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http://archive.org/details/doctorsdilemma01stre 


THE 


Doctor's  Dilemma. 


BY 

HESBA   STRETTON, 

Author  of  "  Bede's  Charity,"  "  In  Prison  and  Out,"  "  Through 
a  Needle's  Eye,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,    MEAD,   AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


CONTENTS. 


Jw/z. 


PART  FIRST. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

An  Open  Door,    .........  9 

CHAPTER    II. 
To  Southampton, 15 

CHAPTER    III. 
A  Rough  Night  at  Sea,         ........  22 

CHAPTER    IV. 
A  Safe  Haven 28 

CHAPTER   V. 
Will  It  Do  ? 35 

CHAPTER   VI. 
Too  Much  Alone,  ........  41 

.     CHAPTER  VII. 
An  Island  Without  a  Doctor,         ......  49 


PART  SECOND. 

CHAPTER   I. 
Dr.  Martin  Dobree, 56 

CHAPTER   II. 
A  Surprise, 66 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    III. 

PAGE 

Without  Resources,      ....*....  70 

CHAPTER   IV. 
A  Rival  Practitioner, 77 

CHAPTER   V. 
Locks  of  Hair, •         •  81 

CHAPTER   VI. 
A  Ruse, 84 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Who  Is  She? 87 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
Who  Are  Her  Friends  ? 96 

CHAPTER    IX. 
The  Sixties  of  Guernsey,       .......         101 

CHAPTER   X. 
A  Clue  to  the  Secret, 108 

CHAPTER   XI. 
Julia's  Wedding-Dress, 114 

CHAPTER   XII. 
Stolen  Waters  Are  Sweet, 118 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
One  in  a  Thousand, 127 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Overhead  in  Love 135 

CHAPTER   XV. 
In  a  Fix 144 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
A  Midnight  Ride, 154 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

PAGE 

A  Long  Half-Hour 163 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 
Broken  Off, 169 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
The  Dobrees'  Good  Name, 173 

CHAPTER   XX. 
Two  Letters, 180 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
All  Wrong, 186 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
Dead  to  Honor, 192 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 
In  Exile, 201 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 
Over-Matched, 207 

CHAPTER   XXV. 
Home  Again, 212 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 
A  New  Patient,  * 219 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 
Set  Free 227 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 
A  Bright  Beginning,     ........         232 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 
The  Gouliot  Caves, 240 

CHAPTER   XXX. 
A  Gloomy  Ending, 247 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 
A  Story  in  Detail,         ...#.«,,         254 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 

PAGE 

Olivia  Gone, •         •         265 

CHAPTER   XXXIII.  " 
The  Ebb  of  Life 270 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
A  Disconsolate  Widower, 275 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 
The  Widower  Comforted, 279 

CHAPTER   XXXVI. 
Final  Arrangements, 287 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 
The  Tables  Turned 289 

CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 
Olivia's  Husband, •         •         .         298 

CHAPTER   XXXIX. 
Sad  News, 306 

CHAPTER   XL. 
A  Tormenting  Doubt,  .         .......         311 

CHAPTER   XLI. 

Martin  Dobree's  Pledge,        .         .         .         .         .         .         #         318 

CHAPTER   XLII. 
Noireau, 325 

CHAPTER   XLIII. 
A  Second  Pursuer,         .         . 332 

CHAPTER   XLIV. 
The  Law  of  Marriage,  .......         340 

CHAPTER   XLV. 
Fulfilling  the  Pledge, 345 

'CHAPTER   XLVI. 
A  Deed  of  Separation,  .  352 


CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER   XLVII. 

PAGE 

A  Friendly  Cabman, 359 

CHAPTER   XLVIII. 
Julia's  Wedding, 365 

CHAPTER   XLIX. 
A  Telegram  in  Patois, 372 


PART  THIRD. 

CHAPTER    I. 
Olivia's  Justification,     ........         376 

CHAPTER    II. 
On  the  Wing  Again,     ........         382 

CHAPTER    III. 
In  London  Lodgings,  ........         389 

CHAPTER   IV. 
An  Appointment,  ........         393 

CHAPTER   V. 
Bellringer  Street, 400 

CHAPTER   VI. 
Leaving  England,         ........         408 

CHAPTER   VII. 
A  Long  Journey,  ........         415 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
At  School  im  France,     ........         422 

CHAPTER    IX. 
A  French  Avocat,         ........         428 

CHAPTER    X. 
A  Misfortune  Without  Parallel,     ......         434 

CHAPTER   XL 
The  Cure  of  Ville-en-Bois, 445 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

PAGE 

A  Fever  Hospital,         ........         455 

CHAPTER    XIIL 
In  Peril, 471 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Rescue, 478 

CHAPTER   XV. 
Pierre's  Secret, 483 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
Suspense, 488 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
A  Malignant  Case, 493 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
The  Last  Death,  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         499 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
Free, 502 

CHAPTER    XX. 
A  Year's  News,     .........         507 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
Farewell  to  Ville-en-Bois,      .......         512 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Too  Highly  Civilized, 518 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Meeting, 522 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 
Seeing  Society 5  26 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Breaking  the  Ice, 53° 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Palmy  Days, 536 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
A  Postscript  by  Martin  Dobre'e,    ......         541 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    I. 


AN    OPEN    DOOR. 


1  THINK  I  was  as  nearly  mad  as  I  could  be;  nearer 
madness,  I  believe,  than  I  shall  ever  be  again,  thank 
God !  Three  weeks  of  it  had  driven  me  to  the  very  verge 
of  desperation.  I  cannot  say  here  what  had  brought  me 
to  this  pass,  for  1  do  not  know  into  whose  hands  these 
pages  may  fall;  but  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  persist  in 
a  certain  line  of  conduct  which  I  firmly  believed  to  be 
right,  while  those  who  had  authority  over  me,  and  were 
stronger  than  I  was,  were  resolutely  bent  upon  making 
me  submit  to  their  will.  The  conflict  had  been  going  on, 
more  or  less  violently,  for  months ;  now  I  had  come  very 
near  the  end  of  it.  I  felt  that  I  must  either  yield  or  go 
mad.  There  was  no  chance  of  my  dying ;  I  was  thought 
too  strong  for  that.  There  was  no  other  alternative  than 
subjection  or  insanity. 

It  had  been  raining  all  the  day  long,  in  a  ceaseless  driv- 
ing torrent,  which  had  kept  the  streets  clear  of  passengers. 
I  could  see  nothing  but  wet  flagstones,  with  little  pools  of 
water  lodging  in  every  hollow,  in  which  the  rain-drops 
splashed  heavily  whenever  the  storm  grew  more  in  earnest. 
Now  and  then  a  tradesman's  cart,   or  a  cab,  with   the 


10  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

drivers  wrapped  in  mackintoshes,  dashed  past;  and  I 
watched  them  till  they  were  out  of  my  sight. 

It  had  been  the  dreariest  of  days.  My  eyes  had  fol- 
lowed the  course  of  solitary  drops  rolling  down  the  window- 
panes,  until  my  head  ached.  Toward  nightfall  I  could 
distinguish  a  low,  wailing  tone,  moaning  through  the  air; 
a  quiet  prelude  to  a  coming  change  in  the  weather,  which 
was  foretold  also  by  little  rents  in  the  thick  mantle  of 
cloud,  which  had  shrouded  the  sky  all  day.  The  storm  of 
rain  was  about  to  be  succeeded  by  a  storm  of  wind.  Any 
change  would  be  acceptable  to  me. 

There  was  nothing  within  my  room  less  dreary  than 
without.  I  was  in  London,  but  in  what  part  of  London 
I  did  not  know.  The  house  was  one  of  those  desirable 
family  residences,  advertised  in  the  Times  as  to  be  let 
furnished,  and  promising  all  the  comforts  and  refinements 
of  a  home.  It  was  situated  in  a  highly  respectable,  though 
not  altogether  fashionable  quarter;  as  I  judged  by  the 
gloomy,  monotonous  rows  of  buildings  which  I  could  f  e 
from  my  windows:  none  of  which  were  shops,  but  all 
private  dwellings.  The  people  who  passed  up  and  down 
the  streets  on  fine  days  were  all  of  one  stamp,  well-to-do 
persons,  who  could  afford  to  wear  good  and  handsome 
clothes ;  but  who  were  infinitely  less  interesting  than  the 
dear  picturesque  beggars  of  Italian  towns,  or  the  sprightly 
well-dressed  peasantry  of  French  cities.  The  rooms  on 
the  third  floor — my  rooms,  which  I  had  not  been  allowed 
to  leave  since  we  entered  the  house,  three  weeks  before — 
were  very  badly  furnished,  indeed,  with  comfortless,  high 
horsehair-seated  chairs,  and  a  sofa  of  the  same  uncom- 
fortable material,  cold  and  slippery,  on  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  rest.  The  carpet  was  nearly  threadbare,  and 
the  curtains  of  dark  red  moreen  were  very  dingy;  the 
mirror  over  the  chimney-piece  seemed  to  have  been  made 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  II 

purposely  to  distort  my  features,  and  produce  in  me  a 
feeling  of  depression.  My  bed-room,  which  communicated 
with  this  agreeable  sitting-room  by  folding -doors,  was  still 
smaller  and  gloomier;  and  opened  upon  a  dismal  back- 
yard, where  a  dog  in  a  kennel  howled  dejectedly  from 
time  to  time,  and  rattled  his  chain,  as  if  to  remind  me  that 
I  was  a  prisoner  like  himself.  I  had  no  books,  no  work, 
no  music.  It  was  a  dreary  place  to  pass  a  dreary  time  in ; 
and  my  only  resource  was  to  pace  to  and  fro — to  and  fro 
from  one  end  to  another  of  those  wretched  rooms. 

I  watched  the  day  grow  dusk,  and  then  dark.  The 
rifts  in  the  driving  clouds  were  growing  larger,  and  the 
edges  were  torn.  I  left  off  roaming  up  and  down  my 
room,  like  some  entrapped  creature,  and  sank  down  on  the 
floor  by  the  window,  looking  out  for  the  pale,  sad  blue  of 
the  sky  which  gleamed  now  and  then  through  the  clouds, 
till  the  night  had  quite  set  in.  I  did  not  cry,  for  I  am  not 
given  to  over-much  weeping,  and  my  heart  was  too  sore 
to  be  healed  by  tears ;  neither  did  I  tremble,  for  I  held 
out  my  hand  and  arm  to  make  sure  they  were  steady;  but 
still  I  felt  as  if  I  were  sinking  down — down  into  an  awful, 
profound  despondency,  from  which  I  should  never  rally; 
it  was  all  over  with  me.  I  had  nothing  before  me  but  to 
give  up,  and  own  myself  over-matrhed  and  conquered. 
1  have  a  half-remembrance  that  as  I  crouched  there  in  the 
darkness,  I  sobbed  once,  and  cried  under  my  breath, 
"God  help  me!" 

A  very  slight  sound  grated  on  my  ear,  and  a  fresh  thrill 
of  strong  resentful  feeling  quivered  all  through  me ;  it  was 
the  hateful  click  of  the  key  turning  in  the  lock.  It  gave 
me  force  to  carry  out  my  defiance  a  little  longer.  Before 
the  door  could  be  opened  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  stood 
erect,  and  outwardly  very  calm,  gazing  through  the  win- 
dow, with  my  face  turned  away  from  the  persons  who  were 


I2  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

coming  in ;  I  was  so  placed  that  I  could  see  them  reflected 
in  the  mirror  over  the  fire-place.  A  servant  came  first, 
carrying  in  a  tray,  upon  which  were  a  lamp  and  my  tea — 
such  a  meal  as  might  be  prepared  for  a  school-girl  in  dis- 
grace. She  came  up  to  me  as  if  to  draw  down  the  blinds 
and  close  the  shutters. 

"  Leave  them,"  I  said ;  "  I  will  do  it  myself  by- 
and-by." 

"  He's  not  coming  home  to-night,"  said  a  woman's  voice 
behind  me,  in  a  scoffing  tone. 

I  could  see  her  too,  without  turning  round.  A  hand- 
some woman  with  bold  black  eyes,  and  a  rouged  face, 
which  showed  coarsely  in  the  ugly  looking-glass.  She  was 
extravagantly  dressed,  and  wore  a  profusion  of  ornaments 
— tawdry  ones,  mostly,  but  one  or  two  I  recognized  as 
my  own.  She  was  not  many  years  older  than  myself.  I 
took  no  notice  whatever  of  her,  or  her  words,  or  her  pres- 
ence ;  but  continued  to  gaze  out  steadily  at  the  lamp-lit 
streets  and  stormy  sky.  Her  voice  grew  hoarse  with  pas- 
sion, and  I  knew  well  how  her  face  would  burn  and  flush 
under  the  rouge. 

"  It  will  be  no  better  for  you  when  he  is  at  home,"  she 
said  fiercely.  "  He  hates  you ;  he  swears  so  a  hundred 
times  a  day,  and  he  is  determined  to  break  your  proud 
spirit  for  you.  We  shall  force  you  to  knock  under  sooner 
or  later;  and  I  warn  you  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  be 
sooner  rather  than  later.  What  friends  have  you  got  any- 
where to  take  your  side?  If  you'd  made  friends  with  me, 
my  fine  lady,  you'd  have  found  it  good  for  yourself;  but 
you've  chosen  to  make  me  your  enemy,  and  I'll  make  him 
your  enemy.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do,  he  can't  bear  the 
sight  of  your  long,  puling  face." 

Still  I  did  not  answer  by  word  or  sign.  I  set  my  teeth 
together,  and  gave  no  indication  that  I  had  heard  one 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  13 

word  of  her  taunting  speech.     My  silence  only  served  to 
fan  her  fury. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  madam,"  she  almost  shrieked,  "  you 
are  enough  to  drive  me  to  murder!  I  could  beat  you, 
standing  there  so  dumb,  as  if  I  was  not  worthy  to  speak  a 
word  to.  Ay!  and  I  would,  but  for  him.  So  then  three 
weeks  of  this  hasn't  broken  you  down  yet!  but  you  are 
only  making  it  the  worse  for  yourself;  we  shall  try  other 
means  to-morrow." 

She  had  no  idea  how  nearly  my  spirit  was  broken,  for  I 
gave  her  no  reply.  She  came  up  to  where  I  stood,  and 
shook  her  clenched  hand  in  my  face — a  large  well-shaped 
hand,  with  bejewelled  fingers,  that  could  have  given  me 
a  heavy  blow.  Her  face  was  dark  with  passion ;  yet  she 
was  maintaining  some  control  over  herself,  although  with 
great  difficulty.  She  had  never  struck  me  yet,  but  I 
trembled  and  shrank  from  her,  and  was  thankful  when 
she  flung  herself  out  of  the  room,  pulling  the  door  violently 
after  her,  and  locking  it  noisily,  as  if  the  harsh  jarring 
sounds  would  be  more  terrifying  than  the  tones  of  her  own 
voice. 

Left  to  myself  I  turned  round  to  the  light,  catching  a 
fresh  glimpse  of  my  face  in  the  mirror — a  paler  and  sadder 
and  more  forlorn  face  than  before.  I  almost  hated  my- 
self in  that  glass.  But  I  was  hungry,  for  I  was  young,  and 
my  health  and  appetite  were  very  good ;  and  I  sat  down 
to  my  plain  fare,  and  ate  it  heartily.  I  felt  stronger  and 
in  better  spirits  by  the  time  I  had  finished  the  meal;  I 
resolved  to  brave  it  out  a  little  longer.  The  house  was 
very  quiet ;  for  at  present  there  was  no  one  in  it  except 
the  woman  and  the  servant  who  had  been  up  to  my  room. 
The  servant  was  a  poor  London  drudge,  who  was  left  in 
charge  by  the  owners  of  the  house,  and  who  had  been  for- 
bidden to  speak  to  me.     After  a  while  I  heard  her  heavy 


l4  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

shambling  footsteps  coming  slowly  up  the  staircase,  and 
passing  my  door  on  her  way  to  the  attics  above ;  they 
sounded  louder  than  usual,  and  I  turned  my  head  round 
involuntarily.  A  thin,  fine  streak  of  light,  no  thicker  than 
a  thread,  shone  for  an  instant  in  the  dark  corner  of  the 
wall  close  by  the  door-post,  but  it  died  away  almost  be- 
fore I  saw  it.  My  heart  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  then 
beat  like  a  hammer.  I  stole  very  softly  to  the  door,  and 
discovered  that  the  bolt  had  slipped  beyond  the  hoop  of 
the  lock — probably  in  the  sharp  bang  with  which  it  had 
been  closed.     The  door  was  open  for  me ! 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  15 


CHAPTER   II. 


TO    SOUTHAMPTON. 


THERE  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  When  the 
servant  came  down-stairs  again  from  her  room  in 
the  attics,  she  would  be  sure  to  call  for  the  tea-tray,  in 
order  to  save  herself  another  journey;  how  long  she  would 
be  up-stairs  was  quite  uncertain.  If  she  was  gone  to 
"clean"  herself,  as  she  called  it,  the  process  might  be  a 
very  long  one,  and  a  good  hour  might  be  at  my  disposal ; 
but  I  could  not  count  upon  that.  In  the  drawing-room 
below  sat  my  jailer  and  enemy,  who  might  take  a  whim 
into  her  head,  and  come  up  to  see  her  prisoner  at  any 
instant.  It  was  necessary  to  be  very  quick,  very  decisive, 
and  very  silent. 

I  had  been  on  the  alert  for  such  a  chance  ever  since 
my  imprisonment  began.  My  seal-skin  hat  and  jacket  lay 
ready  to  my  hand  in  a  drawer;  but  I  could  find  no  gloves; 
I  could  not  wait  for  gloves.  Already  there  were  ominous 
sounds  overhead,  as  if  the  servant  had  despatched  her 
brief  business  there,  and  was  about  to  come  down.  I  had 
not  time  to  put  on  thicker  boots;  and  it  was  perhaps 
essential  to  the  success  of  my  flight  to  steal  down  the 
stairs  in  the  soft  velvet  slippers  I  was  wearing.  I  stepped 
as  lightly  as  I  could — lightly  but  very  swiftly,  for  the 
servant  was  at  the  top  of  the  upper  flight,  while  I  had 
two  to  descend. 

I  crept  past  the  drawing-room  door.  The  heavy  house- 
door  opened   with  a  grating  of  the  hinges ;  but   I  stood 


16  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

outside  it,  in  the  shelter  of  the  portico — free,  but  the  rain 
and  wind  of  a  stormy  night  in  October  beating  against  me, 
and  with  no  light  save  the  glimmer  of  the  feeble  street- 
lamps  flickering  across  the  wet  pavement. 

I  knew  very  well  that  my  escape  was  almost  hopeless, 
for  the  success  of  it  depended  very  much  upon  which  road 
of  the  three  lying  before  me  I  should  happen  to  take.  I 
had  no  idea  of  the  direction  of  any  one  of  them,  for  I  had 
never  been  out  of  the  house  since  the  night  I  was  brought 
to  it.  The  strong  quick  running  of  the  servant,  and  the 
passionate  fury  of  the  woman,  would  overtake  me  if  we 
were  to  have  a  long  race ;  and  if  they  overtook  me  they 
would  force  me  back.  I  had  no  right  to  seek  freedom  in 
this  wild  way,  yet  it  was  the  only  way.  Even  while  I  hesi- 
tated in  the  portico  of  the  house  that  ought  to  have  been 
my  home,  I  heard  the  shrill  scream  of  the  girl  within  when 
she  found  my  door  open,  and  my  room  empty.  If  I  did 
not  decide  instantaneously,  and  decide  aright,  it  would 
have  been  better  for  me  never  to  have  tried  this  chance 
of  escape. 

But  I  did  not  linger  another  moment.  I  could  almost 
believe  an  angel  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me.  I 
darted  straight  across  the  muddy  road,  getting  my  thin 
slippers  wet  through  at  once,  ran  for  a  few  yards,  and  then 
turned  sharply  round  a  corner  into  a  street,  at  the  end  of 
which  I  saw  the  cheery  light  of  shop-windows,  all  in  a  glow 
in  spite  of  the  rain.  On  I  fled  breathlessly,  unhindered 
by  any  passer-by,  for  the  rain  was  still  falling,  though  more 
lightly.  As  I  drew  nearer  to  the  shop-windows,  an 
omnibus-driver,  seeing  me  run  toward  him,  pulled  iip  his 
horses  in  expectation  of  a  passenger.  The  conductor 
shouted  some  name  which  I  did  not  hear,  but  I  sprang  in, 
caring  very  little  where  it  might  carry  me,  so  that  I  could 
get  quickly  enough  and  far  enough  out  of  the  reach  of  my 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  17 

pursuers.  There  had  been  no  time  to  lose,  and  none  was 
lost.  The  omnibus  drove  on  again  quickly,  and  no  trace 
of  me  was  left. 

I  sat  quite  still  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  omnibus, 
hardly  able  to  recover  my  breath  after  my  rapid  running. 
I  was  a  little  frightened  at  the  notice  the  two  or  three 
other  passengers  appeared  to  take  of  me,  and  I  did  my 
best  to  seem  calm  and  collected.  My  ungloved  hands 
gave  me  some  trouble,  and  I  hid  them  as  well  as  I  could 
in  the  folds  of  my  dress;  for  there  was  something  remark- 
able about  the  want  of  gloves  in  any  one  as  well  dressed  as 
I  was.  But  nobody  spoke  to  me,  and  one  after  another 
they  left  the  omnibus,  and  fresh  persons  took  their  places, 
who  did  not  know  where  I  had  got  in.  I  did  not  stir,  for 
I  determined  to  go  as  far  as  I  could  in  this  conveyance. 
But  all  the  while  I  was  wondering  what  I  should  do  with  my- 
self, and  where  I  could  go,  when  it  reached  its  destination. 

There  was  one  trifling  difficulty  immediately  ahead  of 
me.  When  the  omnibus  stopped  I  should  have  no  small 
change  for  paying  my  fare.  There  was  an  Australian 
sovereign  fastened  to  my  watch-chain,  which  I  could  take 
off,  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  detach  it  while  we  were 
jolting  on.  Besides,  I  dreaded  to  attract  attention  to  my- 
self.    Yet  what  else  could  I  do  ? 

Before  I  had  settled  this  question,  which  occupied  me 
so  fully  that  I  forgot  other  and  more  serious  difficulties, 
the  omnibus  drove  into  a  station-yard,  and  every  passenger, 
inside  and  out,  prepared  to  alight.  I  lingered  till  the  last, 
and  sat  still  till  I  had  unfastened  my  gold  piece.  The 
wind  drove  across  the  open  space  in  a  strong  gust  as  I 
stepped  down  upon  the  pavement.  A  man  had  just  de- 
scended from  the  roof,  and  was  paying  the  conductor :  a 
tall,  burly  man,  wearing  a  thick  water-proof  coat,  and  a 
seaman's  hat  of  oil-skin,  with  a  long  flap  lying  over  the 
2 


1 8  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

back  of  his  neck.  His  face  was  brown  and  weather-beaten, 
but  he  had  kindly-looking  eyes,  which  glanced  at  me  as  I 
stood  waiting  to  pay  my  fare. 

"  Going  down  to  Southampton?  "  said  the  conductor  to 
him. 

"  Ay,  and  beyond  Southampton,"  he  answered. 

"  You'll  have  a  rough  night  of  it,"  said  the  conductor. 
"  Sixpence,  if  you  please,  miss." 

I  offered  him  my  Australian  sovereign,  which  he  turned 
over  curiously,  asking  me  if  I  had  no  smaller  change.  He 
grumbled  when  I  answered  no,  and  the  stranger,  who  had 
not  passed  on,  but  was  listening  to  what  was  said,  turned 
pleasantly  to  me. 

"  You  have  no  change,  mam'zelle?  "  he  asked,  speaking 
rather  slowly,  as  if  English  was  not  his  ordinary  speech. 
"  Very  well!  are  you  going  to  Southampton?  " 

"  Yes,  by  the  next  train,"  I  answered,  deciding  upon 
that  course  without  hesitation. 

"  So  am  I,  mam'zelle,"  he  said,  raising  his  hand  to  his 
oil-skin  cap:  "I  will  pay  this  sixpence,  and  you  can  give 
it  me  again,  when  you  buy  your  ticket  in  the  office." 

I  smiled  quickly,  gladly;  and  he  smiled  back  upon  me, 
but  gravely,  as  if  his  face  was  not  used  to  a  smile.  I  passed 
on  into  the  station,  where  a  train  was  standing,  and  people 
hurrying  about  the  platform,  choosing  their  carriages.  At 
the  ticket-office  they  changed  my  Australian  gold-piece 
without  a  word ;  and  I  sought  out  my  seaman  friend  to 
return  the  sixpence  he  had  paid  for  me.  He  had  done 
me  a  greater  kindness  than  he  could  ever  know,  and  I 
thanked  him  heartily.  His  honest,  deep-set  blue  eyes 
glistened  under  their  shaggy  eyebrows  as  they  looked  down 
upon  me. 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  more  for  you,  mam'zelle?  "  he  asked. 
"  Shall  I  see  after  your  luggage?  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  19 

"Oh!  that  will  be  all  right,  thank  you,"  I  replied,  "but 
is  this  the  train  for  Southampton,  and  how  soon  will  it 
start  ?  " 

I  was  watching  anxiously  the  stream  of  people  going  to 
and  fro,  lest  I  should  see  some  person  who  knew  me.  Yet 
who  was  there  in  London  who  could  know  me  ? 

"  It  will  be  off  in  five  minutes,"  answered  the  seaman. 
"  Shall  I  look  out  a  carriage  for  you  ?  " 

He  was  somewhat  careful  in  making  his  selection  ;  finally 
he  put  me  into  a  compartment  where  there  were  only  two 
ladies,  and  he  stood  in  front  of  the  door,  but  with  his  back 
turned  toward  it,  until  the  train  was  about  to  start.  Then 
he  touched  his  hat  again  with  a  gesture  of  farewell,  and 
ran  away  to  a  second-class  carriage. 

I  sighed  with  satisfaction  as  the  train  rushed  swiftly 
through  the  dimly-lighted  suburbs  of  London  and  entered 
upon  the  open  country.  A  wan,  watery  line  of  light  lay 
under  the  brooding  clouds  in  the  west,  tinged  with  a  lurid 
hue ;  and  all  the  great  field  of  sky  stretching  above  the 
level  landscape  was  overcast  with  storm-wrack,  fleeing 
swiftly  before  the  wind.  At  times  the  train  seemed  to 
shake  with  the  blast,  when  it  was  passing  over  any  em- 
bankment more  than  ordinarily  exposed ;  but  it  sped  across 
the  country  almost  as  rapidly  as  the  clouds  across  the  sky. 
No  one  in  the  carriage  spoke.  Then  came  over  me  that 
weird  feeling  familiar  to  travellers,  that  one  has  been 
doomed  to  travel  thus  through  many  years,  and  has  not 
half  accomplished  the  time.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  fleeing 
from  my  home,  and  those  who  should  have  been  my 
friends,  for  a  long  and  weary  while;  yet  it  was  scarcely  an 
hour  since  I  had  made  my  escape. 

In  about  two  hours  or  more — but  exactly  what  time  I 
did  not  know,  for  my  watch  had  stopped — my  fellow- 
passengers,  who  had  scarcely  condescended  to  glance  at 


20  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

me,  alighted  at  a  large,  half-deserted  station,  where  only 
a  few  lamps  were  burning.  Through  the  window  I  could 
see  that  very  few  other  persons  were  leaving  the  train,  and 
I  concluded  we  had  not  yet  reached  the  terminus.  A 
porter  came  up  to  me  as  I  leaned  my  head  through  the 
window. 

"Going  on,  miss?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes!  "  I  answered,  shrinking  back  into  my  corner 
seat.  He  remained  upon  the  step,  with  his  arm  over  the 
window-frame,  while  the  train  moved  on  at  a  slackened 
pace  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  pulled  up,  but  at  no 
station.  Before  me  lay  a  dim,  dark,  indistinct  scene,  with 
little  specks  of  light  twinkling  here  and  there  in  the  night, 
but  whether  on  sea  or  shore  I  could  not  tell.  Immedi- 
ately opposite  the  train  stood  the  black  hulls  and  masts 
and  funnels  of  two  steamers,  with  a  glimmer  of  lanterns 
on  their  decks,  and  up  and  down  their  shrouds.  The 
porter  opened  the  door  for  me. 

"  You've  only  to  go  on  board,  miss,"  he  said,  "  your 
luggage  will  be  seen  to  all  right."  And  he  hurried  away 
to  open  the  doors  of  other  carriages. 

I  stood  still,  utterly  bewildered,  for  a  minute  or  two, 
with  the  wind  tossing  my  hair  about,  and  the  rain  beating 
in  sharp  stinging  drops  like  hailstones  upon  my  face  and 
hands.  It  must  have  been  close  upon  midnight,  and  there 
was  no  light  but  the  dim,  glow-worm  glimmer  of  the 
lanterns  on  deck.  Every  one  was  hurrying  past  me.  I 
began  almost  to  repent  of  the  desperate  step  I  had  taken ; 
but  I  had  learned  already  that  there  is  no  possibility  of 
retracing  one's  steps.  At  the  gangways  of  the  two  vessels 
there  were  men  shouting  hoarsely,  "This  way  for  the 
Channel  Islands!"  "This  way  for  Havre  and  Paris!" 
To  which  boat  should  I  trust  myself  and  my  fate?  There 
was  nothing  to  guide  me.     Yet  once  more  that  night  the 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  2I 

moment  had  come  when  I  was  compelled  to  make  a 
prompt,  decisive,  urgent  choice.  It  was  almost  a  question 
of  life  and  death  to  me:  a  leap  in  the  dark  must  be  taken. 
My  great  terror  was  lest  my  place  of  refuge  should  be 
discovered,  and  I  be  forced  back  again.  Where  was  I  to 
go — to  Paris,  or  to  the  Channel  Islands? 


22  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A    ROUGH    NIGHT    AT    SEA. 

A  MERE  accident  decided  it.  Near  the  forepart  of 
the  train  I  saw  the  broad,  tall  figure  of  my  new 
friend,  the  seaman,  making  his  way  across  to  the  boat  for 
the  Channel  Islands;  and  almost  involuntarily  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  go  on  board  the  same  steamer,  for  I  had  an 
instinctive  feeling  that  he  would  prove  a  real  friend,  if  I 
had  need  of  one.  He  did  not  see  me  following ;  no  doubt 
he  supposed  I  had  left  the  train  at  Southampton,  having 
only  taken  my  ticket  so  far;  though  how  I  had  missed 
Southampton  I  could  not  tell.  The  deck  was  wet  and 
slippery,  and  the  confusion  upon  it  was  very  great.  I  was 
too  much  at  home  on  a  steamer  to  need  any  directions ; 
and  I  went  down  immediately  into  the  ladies1  cabin,  which 
was  almost  empty,  and  chose  a  berth  for  myself  in  the 
darkest  corner.  It  was  not  far  from  the  door,  and  pres- 
ently two  other  ladies  came  down,  with  a  gentleman  and 
the  captain,  and  held  an  anxious  parley  close  to  me.  I 
listened  absently  and  mechanically,  as  indifferent  to  the 
subject  as  if  it  could  be  of  no  consequence  to  me. 

"Is  there  any  danger?  "  asked  one  of  the  ladies. 

u  Well,  I  cannot  say  positively  there  will  be  no  danger," 
answered  the  captain;  "there's  not  danger  enough  to 
keep  me  and  the  crew  in  port ;  but  it  will  be  a  very  dirty 
night  in  the  Channel.  If  there's  no  actual  necessity  for 
crossing  to-night  I  should  advise  you  to  wait,  and  see  how 
it  will  be  to-morrow.     Of  course  we  shall  use  extra  caution, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


23 


and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  No ;  I  cannot  say  I  expect  any- 
great  danger." 

"But  it  will  be  awfully  rough?  "  said  the  gentleman. 

The  captain  answered  only  by  a  sound  between  a  groan 
and  a  whistle,  as  if  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  think  of 
words  that  would  describe  the  roughness.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  of  his  meaning.  The  ladies  hastily  determined 
to  drive  back  to  their  hotel,  and  gathered  up  their  small 
packages  and  wrappings  quickly.  I  fancied  they  were  re- 
garding me  somewhat  curiously,  but  I  kept  my  face  away 
from  them  carefully.  They  could  only  see  my  seal-skin 
jacket  and  hat,  and  my  rough  hair;  and  they  did  not  speak 
to  me. 

"You  are  going  to  venture,  miss?  "  said  the  captain, 
stepping  into  the  cabin  as  they  retreated  up  the  steps. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  answered.  "I  am  obliged  to  go,  and  I 
am  not  in  the  least  afraid." 

"  You  needn't  be,"  he  replied,  in  a  hearty  voice.  "  We 
shall  do  our  best,  for  our  own  sakes,  and  you  would  be 
our  first  care  if  there  was  any  mishap.  Women  and  chil- 
dren first  always.  I  will  send  the  stewardess  to  you;  she 
goes,  of  course." 

I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  couches,  listening  for  a  few 
minutes  to  the  noises  about  me.  The  masts  were  groan- 
ing, and  the  planks  creaking  under  the  heavy  tramp  of  the 
sailors,  as  they  got  ready  to  start,  with  shrill  cries  to  one 
another.  Then  the  steam-engine  began  to  throb  like  a 
pulse  through  all  the  vessel  from  stem  to  stern.  Presently 
the  stewardess  came  down,  and  recommended  me  to  lie 
down  in  my  berth  at  once,  which  I  did  very  obediently, 
but  silently,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  enter  into  conversation 
with  the  woman,  who  seemed  inclined  to  be  talkative. 
She  covered  me  up  well  with  several  blankets,  and  there 
I  lay  with  my  face  turned  from  the  light  of  the  swinging 


24 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


lamp,  and  scarcely  moved  hand  or  foot  throughout  the 
dismal  and  stormy  night. 

For  it  was  very  stormy  and  dismal  as  soon  as  we  were 
out  of  Southampton  Water,  and  in  the  rush  and  swirl  of 
the  Channel.  I  did  not  fall  asleep  for  an  instant.  I  do 
not  suppose  I  should  have  slept  had  the  Channel  been, 
as  it  is  sometimes,  smooth  as  a  mill-pond,  and  there  had 
been  no  clamorous  hissing  and  booming  of  waves  against 
the  frail  planks,  which  I  could  touch  with  my  hand.  I 
could  see  nothing  of  the  storm,  but  I  could  hear  it;  and 
the  boat  seemed  tossed  like  a  mere  cockle-shell,  to  and 
fro  upon  the  rough  sea.  It  did  not  alarm  me  so  much  as 
it  distracted  my  thoughts,  and  kept  them  from  dwelling 
upon  possibilities  far  more  perilous  to  me  than  the  dan- 
ger of  death  by  shipwreck.  A  short  suffering  such  a  death 
would  be. 

My  hasty  escape  had  been  so  unexpected,  so  unhoped- 
for, that  it  had  bewildered  me,  and  it  was  almost  a  pleasure 
to  lie  still  and  listen  to  the  din  and  uproar  of  the  sea,  and 
the  swoop  of  the  wind  rushing  down  upon  it.  Was  I  my- 
self or  no?  Was  this  nothing  more  than  a  very  coherent, 
a  very  vivid  dream,  from  which  I  should  awake  by-and- 
by  to  find  myself  a  prisoner  still,  a  creature  as  wretched 
and  friendless  as  any  that  the  streets  of  London  contained? 
My  flight  had  been  too  extraordinary  a  success,  so  far, 
for  my  mind  to  be  able  to  dwell  upon  it  calmly. 

I  watched  the  dawn  break  through  a  little  port-hole 
opening  upon  my  berth,  which  had  been  washed  and 
beaten  by  the  water  all  the  night  long.  The  level  light 
shone  across  the  troubled  and  leaden-colored  surface  of 
the  sea,  which  seemed  to  grow  a  little  quieter  under  its 
touch.  I  had  fancied  during  the  night  that  the  waves 
were  running  mountains  high ;  but  now  I  could  see  them, 
they  only  rolled  to  and  fro   in  round,  swelling  hillocks, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


25 


dull  green  against  the  eastern  sky,  with  deep,  sullen  troughs 
of  a  livid  purple  between.  But  the  fury  of  the  storm  had 
spent  itself,  that  was  evident,  and  the  steamer  was  now 
steadily  making  way. 

The  stewardess  had  gone  away  early  in  the  night,  being 
frightened  to  death,  she  said,  to  seek  more  genial  com- 
panionship than  mine.  So  I  was  alone,  with  the  blending 
light  of  the  early  dawn  and  that  of  the  lamp  burning  feebly 
from  the  ceiling.  I  sat  up  in  my  berth  and  cautiously 
unstitched  the  lining  in  the  breast  of  my  jacket.  Here, 
months  ago,  when  I  first  began  to  foresee  this  emergency, 
and  while  I  was  still  allowed  the  use  of  my  money,  I  had 
concealed,  one  by  one,  a  few  five-pound  notes  of  the  Bank 
of  England.  I  counted  them  over,  eight  of  them;  forty 
pounds  in  all,  my  sole  fortune,  my  only  means  of  living. 
True,  I  had  besides  these  a  diamond  ring,  presented  to 
me  under  circumstances  which  made  it  of  no  value  to  me, 
except  for  its  worth  in  money,  and  a  watch  and  chain 
given  me  years  ago  by  my  father.  A  jeweller  had  told 
me  that  the  ring  was  worth  six  pounds,  and  the  watch  and 
chain  forty;  but  how  difficult  and  dangerous  it  would  be 
for  me  to  sell  either  of  them !  Practically  rny  means  were 
limited  to  the  eight  notes  of  five  pounds  each.  I  kept 
out  one  for  payment  of  my  passage,  then  replaced  the 
rest,  and  carefully  pinned  them  into  the  unstitched 
lining. 

Then  I  began  to  wonder  what  my  destination  was.  I 
knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  Channel  Islands,  except 
the  names  which  I  had  learned  at  school — Jersey,  Guern- 
sey, Alderney,  and  Sark.  I  repeated  these  over  and  over 
again  to  myself;  but  which  of  them  we  were  bound  for, 
or  if  we  were  about  to  call  at  each  one,  I  did  not  know. 
I  should  have  been  more  at  home  had  I  gone  to  Paris. 

As  the  light  grew,  I  became  restless,  and  at  last  I  left 


26  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

my  berth  and  ventured  to  climb  the  cabin-steps.  The 
fresh  air  smote  upon  me  almost  painfully.  There  was  no 
rain  falling,  and  the  wind  had  been  lulling  since  the  dawn. 
The  sea  itself  was  growing  brighter,  and  glittered  here  and 
there  in  spots  where  the  sunlight  fell  upon  it.  All  the 
sailors  looked  beaten  and  worn  out  with  the  night's  toil, 
and  the  few  passengers  who  had  braved  the  passage,  and 
were  now  well  enough  to  come  on  deck,  were  weary  and 
sallow-looking.  There  was  still  no  land  in  sight,  for  the 
clouds  hung  low  in  the  horizon,  and  overhead  the  sky  was 
often  overcast  and  gloomy.  It  was  so  cold  that,  in  spite 
of  my  warm  mantle,  I  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

But  I  could  not  bear  to  go  back  to  the  close,  ill-smelling 
cabin,  which  had  been  shut  up  all  night.  I  stayed  on 
deck  in  the  biting  wind,  leaning  over  the  wet  bulwarks 
and  gazing  across  the  desolate  sea  till  my  spirits  sank  like 
lead.  The  reaction  upon  the  violent  strain  on  my  nerves 
was  coming,  and  I  had  no  power  to  resist  its  influence.  I 
could  feel  the  tears  rolling  down  my  cheeks  arid  falling 
on  my  hands  without  caring  to  wipe  them  away;  the  more 
so  as  there  was  no  one  to  see  them.  What  did  my  tears 
signify  to  any  one?  I  was  cold,  and  hungry,  and  miser- 
able. How  lonely  I  was!  how  poor!  with  neither  a  home 
nor  a  friend  in  the  world ! — a  mere  castaway  upon  the 
waves  of  this  troublesome  life. 

"  Mam'zelle  is  a  brave  sailor,"  said  a  voice  behind  me, 
which  I  recognized  as  my  seaman  of  the  night  before, 
whom  I  had  well-nigh  forgotten;  "but  the  storm  is  over 
now,  and  we  shall  be  in  port  only  an  hour  or  two  behind 
time." 

"What  port  shall  we  reach?"  I  asked,  not  caring  to 
turn  round  lest  he  should  see  my  wet  eyes  and  cheeks. 

"  St.  Peter-port,"  he  answered.  "  Mam'zelle,  then,  does 
not  know  our  islands?  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  27 

" No,"  I  said.     "  Where  is  St.  Peter-port?  " 

"  In  Guernsey,"  he  replied.  u  Is  mam'zelle  going  to 
Guernsey  or  Jersey?  Jersey  is  about  two  hours'  sail  from 
Guernsey.  If  you  were  going  to  land  at  St.  Peter-port  I 
might  be  of  some  service  to  you." 

I  turned  round  then,  and  looked  at  him  steadily.  His 
voice  was  a  very  pleasant  one,  full  of  tones  that  went 
straight  to  my  heart  and  filled  me  with  confidence.  His 
face  did  not  give  the  lie  to  it,  or  cause  me  any  disappoint- 
ment. He  was  no  gentleman,  that  was  plain;  his  face 
was  bronzed  and  weather-beaten,  as  if  he  often  encountered 
rough  weather.  But  his  deep-set  eyes  had  a  steadfast, 
quiet  power  in  them,  and  his  mouth,  although  it  was 
almost  hidden  by  hair,  had  a  pleasant  curve  about  it.  I 
could  not  guess  how  old  he  was ;  he  looked  a  middle-aged 
man  to  me.  His  great,  rough  hands,  which  had  never 
worn  gloves,  were  stained  with  hard  labor;  and  he  had 
evidently  been  taking  a  share  in  the  toil  of  the  night,  for 
his  close-fitting,  woven  blue  jacket  was  wet  through,  and 
his  hair  was  damp  and  rough  with  the  wind  and  rain.  He 
raised  his  cap  as  my  eyes  looked  straight  into  his,  and  a 
faint  smile  flitted  across  his  grave  face. 

"  I  want,"  I  said  suddenly,  "  to  find  a  place  where  I  can 
live  cheaply.  I  have  not  much  money,  and  I  must  make 
it  last  a  long  time.  I  do  not  mind  how  quiet  the  place, 
or  how  poor.     Can  you  tell  me  of  such  a  place?  " 

"  You  would  want  a  place  fit  for  a  lady?  "  he  said,  with 
a  glance  at  my  silk  dress. 

"  No,"  I  answered  eagerly.  "  I  mean  such  a  cottage  as 
you  would  live  in.  I  would  do  all  my  own  work,  for  I  am 
very  poor,  and  I  do  not  know  yet  how  I  can  get  my  living 
I  must  be  very  careful  of  my  money  till  I  find  out  what  I 
can  do.  What  sort  of  a  place  do  you  and  your  wife  live 
in?" 


28  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 

His  face  was  clouded  a  little,  I  thought ;  and  he  did  not 
answer  me  till  after  a  short  silence. 

"  My  poor  little  wife  is  dead,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  do 
not  live  in  Guernsey  or  Jersey.  We  live  in  Sark,  my 
mother  and  I.  I  am  a  fisherman,  but  I  have  also  a  little 
farm,  for  with  us  the  land  goes  from  the  father  to  the 
eldest  son,  and  I  was  the  eldest.  It  is  true  we  have  one 
room  to  spare,  which  might  do  for  mam'zelle;  but  the 
island  is  far  away,  and  very  triste.  Jersey  is  gay,  and  so 
is  Guernsey,  but  in  the  winter  Sark  is  too  mournful." 

"It  will  be  just  the  place  I  want,"  I  said  quickly;  "it 
would  suit  me  exactly.  Can  you  let  me  go  there  at  once? 
Will  you  take  me  with  you?  " 

"  Mam'zelle,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "  the  room  must  be 
made  ready  for  you,  and  I  must  speak  to  my  mother. 
Besides,  Sark  is  six  miles  from  Guernsey,  and  to-day  the 
passage  would  be  too  rough  for  you.  If  God  sends  us 
fair  weather  I  will  come  back  to  St.  Peter-port  for  you  in 
three  days.  My  name  is  Tardif.  You  can  ask  the  people 
in  Peter-port  what  sort  of  a  man  Tardif  of  the  Havre 
Gosselin  is." 

"  I  do  not  want  any  one  to  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  man 
you  are,"  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand,  red  and  cold  with 
the  keen  air.  He  took  it  into  his  large  rough  palm,  look- 
ing down  upon  me  with  an  air  of  friendly  protection. 

"What  is  your  name,  mam'zelle?"  he  inquired. 

"Oh,  my  name  is  Olivia,"  I  said;  then  I  stopped 
abruptly,  for  there  flashed  across  me  the  necessity  for  con- 
cealing it.  Tardif  did  not  seem  to  notice  my  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  There  are  some  Olliviers  in  St.  Peter-port,"  he  said. 
"Is  mam'zelle  of  the  same  family?  But  no,  that  is  not 
probable." 

"I  have  no  relations,"  I  answered,  "not  even  in  Eng- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  2q 

land.  I  have  very  few  friends,  and  they  are  all  far  away 
in  Australia.  I  was  born  there,  and  lived  there  till  I  was 
seventeen." 

The  tears  sprang  to  my  eyes  again,  and  my  new  friend 
saw  them,  but  said  nothing.  He  moved  off  at  once  to 
the  far  end  of  the  deck,  to  help  one  of  the  crew  in  some 
heavy  piece  of  work.  He  did  not  come  back  until  the 
rain  began  to  return — a  fine,  drizzling  rain,  which  came  in 
scuds  across  the  sea. 

"  Mam'zelle,"  he  said,  "you  ought  to  go  below;  and  I 
will  tell  you  when  we  are  in  sight  of  Guernsey." 

I  went  below,  inexpressibly  more  satisfied  and  com- 
forted. What  it  was  in  this  man  that  won  my  complete, 
unquestioning  confidence,  I  did  not  know;  but  his  very 
presence,  and  the  sight  of  his  good,  trustworthy  face,  gave 
me  a  sense  of  security  such  as  I  have  never  felt  before  or 
since.  Surely  God  had  sent  him  to  me  in  my  great  ex- 
tremity. 


3° 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A    SAFE    HAVEN. 

\17E  were  two  hours  after  time  at  St.  Peter-port;  and 
VV  then  all  was  hurry  and  confusion,  for  goods  and 
passengers  had  to  be  landed  and  embarked  for  Jersey. 
Tardif,  who  was  afraid  of  losing  the  cutter  which  would 
convey  him  to  Sark,  had  only  time  to  give  me  the  address 
of  a  person  with  whom  I  could  lodge,  until  he  came  to 
fetch  me  to  his  island,  and  then  he  hastened  away  to  a 
different  part  of  the  quay.  I  was  not  sorry  that  he  should 
miss  finding  out  that  I  had  no  luggage  of  any  kind  with 
me. 

I  was  busy  enough  during  the  next  three  days,  for  I  had 
everything  to  buy.  The  widow  with  whom  I  was  lodging 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  lost  all  my  luggage,  and 
I  did  not  try  to  remove  the  false  impression.  Through 
her  assistance  I  was  able  to  procure  all  I  required,  with- 
out exciting  more  notice  and  curiosity.  My  purchases, 
though  they  were  as  simple  and  cheap  as  I  could  make 
them,  drew  largely  upon  my  small  store  of  money,  and  as 
I  saw  it  dwindling  away,  while  I  grudged  every  shilling  I 
was  obliged  to  part  with,  my  spirits  sank. 

I  had  never  as  yet  known  the  dread  of  being  short  of 
money,  and  the  new  experience  was,  perhaps,  the  moie 
terrible  to  me.  There  was  no  chance  of  disposing  of  the 
costly  dress  in  which  I  had  journeyed,  without  arousing 
too  much  attention  and  running  too  great  a  risk.  I  stayed 
in-doors  as  much  as  possible,  and  as  the  weather  continued 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


31 


cold  and  gloomy,  I  did  not  meet  many  persons  when  I 
ventured  out  into  the  narrow,  foreign-looking  streets  of 
the  town. 

But  on  the  third  day,  when  I  looked  out  from  my  win- 
dow, I  saw  that  the  sky  had  cleared,  and  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing joyously.  It  was  one  of  those  lovely  days  which  come 
as  a  lull  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  the  equinoctial  gales, 
as  if  they  were  weary  of  the  havoc  they  have  made,  and 
are  resting  with  folded  wings.  For  the  first  time  I  saw 
the  little  island  of  Sark  lying  against  the  eastern  s!<y.  The 
whole  length  of  it  was  visible,  from  north  to  south,  with 
the  waves  beating  against  its  headlands,  and  a  fringe  of 
silvery  foam  girdling  it.  The  sky  was  of  a  pale  blue,  as 
though  the  rains  had  washed  it  as  well  as  the  earth,  and  a 
few  filmy  clouds  were  still  lingering  about.  The  sea  be- 
neath was  a  deeper  blue,  with  streaks  almost  like  a  hoar- 
frost upon  it,  with  here  and  there  tints  of  green,  like  that 
of  the  sky  at  sunset.  A  boat  with  three  white  sails,  which 
were  reflected  in  the  water,  was  tacking  about  to  enter  the 
harbor;  and  a  second,  with  amber  sails,  was  a  little  way 
behind,  but  following  quickly  in  its  wake. 

I  watched  them  for  a  long  time.  Was  either  of  them 
Tardifs  boat? 

That  question  was  answered  in  about  two  hours'  time 
by  Tardifs  appearance  at  the  house.  He  lifted  my  little 
box  on  to  his  broad  shoulders,  and  marched  away  with  it, 
trying  vainly  to  reduce  his  long  strides  into  steps  that 
would  suit  me,  as  I  walked  beside  him.  I  felt  overjoyed 
that  he  was  come.  So  long  as  I  was  in  Guernsey,  when, 
every  morning  I  could  see  the  arrival  of  the  packet  that 
had  brought  me,  I  could  not  shake  off  the  fear  that  it  was 
bringing  some  one  in  pursuit ;  but  in  Sark  that  would  be 
all  different.  Besides,  I  felt  instinctively  that  this  man 
would  protect  me,  and  take  my  part  to  the  very  utmost, 


32  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

should  any  .circumstances  arise  that  compelled  me  to  ap- 
peal to  him  and  trust  him  with  my  secret.  I  knew  nothing 
of  him,  but  his  face  was  stamped  with  God's  seal  of  trust- 
worthiness, if  ever  a  human  face  was. 

A  second  man  was  in  the  boat  when  we  reached  it,  and 
it  looked  well  laden.  Tardif  made  a  comfortable  seat  for 
me  amid  the  packages,  and  then  the  sails  were  unfurled, 
and  we  were  off  quickly  out  of  the  harbor  and  on  the 
open  sea. 

A  low  westerly  wind  was  blowing,  and  fell  upon  the  sails 
with  a  strong  and  equal  pressure.  We  rode  before  it 
rapidly,  skimming  over  the  crested  waves  almost  without 
a  motion.  Never  before  had  I  felt  so  perfectly  secure 
upon  the  water.  Now  I  could  breathe  freely,  with  the 
sense  of  assured  safety  growing  stronger  every  moment, 
as  the  coast  of  Guernsey  receded  on  the  horizon,  and  the 
rocky  little  island  grew  nearer.  As  we  approaced  it  no 
landing-place  was  to  be  seen,  no  beach  or  strand. 

An  iron-bound  coast  of  sharp  and  rugged  crags  con- 
fronted us,  which  it  seemed  impossible  to  scale.  At  last 
we  cast  anchor  at  the  foot  of  a  great  cliff,  rising  sheer  out 
of  the  sea,  where  a  ladder  hung  down  the  face  of  the  rock 
for  a  few  feet.  A  wilder  or  lonelier  place  I  had  never 
seen.     Nobody  could  pursue  and  surprise  me  here. 

The  boatman  who  was  with  us  climbed  up  the  ladder, 
and  kneeling  down,  stretched  out  his  hand  to  help  me, 
while  Tardif  stood  waiting  to  hold  me  steadily  on  the 
damp  and  slippery  rungs.  For  a  moment  I  hesitated,  and 
looked  round  at  the  crags,  and  the  tossing,  restless  sea. 

"  I  could  carry  you  through  the  water,  mam'zelle,"  said 
Tardif,  pointing  to  a  hand's  breadth  of  shingle  lying  be- 
tween the  rocks,  "  but  you  will  get  wet.  It  will  be  better 
for  you  to  mount  up  here." 

I  fastened  both  of  my  hands  tightly  round  one  of  the 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  33 

upper  rungs,  before  lifting  my  feet  from  the  unsteady  prow 
of  the  boat.  But  the  ladder  once  climbed,  the  rest  of  the 
ascent  was  easy.  I  walked  on  up  a  zig-zag  path,  cut  in 
the  face  of  the  cliff,  until  I  gained  the  summit,  and  sat 
down  to  wait  for  Tardif  and  his  comrade.  I  could  not 
have  fled  to  a  securer  hiding-place.  So  long  as  my  money 
held  out,  I  might  live  as  peacefully  and  safely  as  any 
fugitive  had  ever  lived. 

For  a  little  while  I  sat  looking  out  at  the  wild  and 
beautiful  scene  before  me,  which  no  words  can  tell  and 
no  fancy  picture  to  those  who  have  never  seen  it.  The 
white  foam  of  the  waves  was  so  near,  that  I  could  see  the 
rainbow  colors  playing  through  the  bubbles  as  the  sun 
shone  on  them.  Below  the  clear  water  lay  a  girdle  of 
sunken  rocks,  pointed  as  needles,  and  with  edges  as  sharp 
as  swords,  around  which  the  waves  fretted  ceaselessly, 
drawing  silvery  lines  about  their  notched  and  dented  ridges. 
The  cliffs  ran  up  precipitously  from  the  sea,  carved  gro- 
tesquely over  their  whole  surface  into  strange  and  fantas- 
tic shapes;  while  the  golden  and  gray  lichens  embroidered 
them  richly,  and  bright  sea-flowers,  and  stray  tufts  of 
grass,  lent  them  the  most  vivid  and  gorgeous  hues.  Be- 
yond the  channel,  against  the  clear  western  sky,  lay  the 
island  of  Guernsey,  rising  like  a  purple  mountain  out  of 
the  opal  sea,  which  lay  like  a  lake  between  us,  sparkling 
and  changing  every  minute  under  the  light  of  the  after- 
noon sun. 

But  there  was  scarcely  time  for  the  exquisite  beauty  of 
this  scene  to  sink  deeply  into  my  heart  just  then.  Before 
long  I  heard  the  tramp  of  Tardif  and  his  comrade  follow- 
ing me ;  their  heavy  tread  sent  down  the  loose  stones  on 
the  path  plunging  into  the  sea.  They  were  both  laden 
with  part  of  the  boat's  cargo.     They  stopped  to  rest  for  a 

minute  or  two  at  the  spot  where  I  had  sat  down,  and  the 
3 


34 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


other  boatman  began  talking  earnestly  to  Tardif  in  his 
patois,  of  which  I  did  not  understand  a  word.  Tardif  s 
face  was  very  grave  and  sad,  indescribably  so ;  and  before 
he  turned  to  me  and  spoke,  I  knew  it  was  some  sorrowful 
catastrophe  he  had  to  tell. 

"You  see  how  smooth  it  is,  mam'zelle,"  he  said — "how 
clear  and  beautiful — down  below  us,  where  the  waves  are 
at  play  like  little  white  children?  I  love  them,  but  they 
are  cruel  and  treacherous.  While  I  was  away  there  was 
an  accident  down  yonder,  just  beyond  these  rocks.  Our 
doctor,  and  two  gentlemen,  and  a  sailor  went  out  from 
our  little  bay  below,  and  shortly  after  there  came  on  a  thick 
darkness,  with  heavy  rain,  and  they  were  all  lost,  every 
one  of  them!  Poor  Renouf,  he  was  a  good  friend  of 
mine.  And  our  doctor,  too!  If  I  had  been  here,  maybe 
I  might  have  persuaded  them  not  to  brave  it." 

It  was  a  sad  story  to  hear,  yet  just  thep  I  did  not  pay 
great  attention  to  it.  I  was  too  much  engrossed  in  my 
own  difficulties  and  trouble.  So  far  as  my  experience 
goes,  I  believe  the  heart  is  more  open  to  other  people's 
sorrows  when  it  is  free  from  burdens  of  its  own.  I  was 
glad  when  Tardif  took  up  his  load  again  and  turned  his 
back  upon  the  sea. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  35 


CHAPTER  V. 

WILL   IT   DO? 

TARDIF  walked  on  before  me  toward  a  low  thatched 
cottage,  standing  at  the  back  of  a  small  farm-yard. 
There  was  no  other  dwelling  in  sight,  and  even  the  sea 
was  not  visible  from  .  it  It  was  sheltered  by  the  steep 
slope  of  a  hill  rising  behind,  and  looked  upon  another 
slope  covered  with  gorse-bushes ;  a  very  deep  and  narrow 
ravine  ran  down  from  it  to  the  hand-breadth  of  shingle 
which  I  had  seen  from  the  boat.  A  more  solitary  place 
I  could  not  have  imagined ;  no  sign  of  human  life,  or  its 
neighborhood,  betrayed  itself;  overhead  was  a  vast  dome 
of  sky,  with  a  few  white-winged  sea-gulls  flitting  across  it, 
and  uttering  their  low  wailing  cry.  The  roof  of  sky  and 
the  two  round  outlines  of  the  little  hills,  and  the  deep 
dark  ravine,  the  end  of  which  was  unseen,  formed  the 
whole  of  the  view  before  me. 

I  felt  chilled  a  little  as  I  followed  Tardif  down  into  the 
dell.  He  glanced  back,  with  grave  searching  eyes,  scan- 
ning my  face  carefully.  I  tried  to  smile,  with  a  very  faint, 
wan  smile,  I  suppose,  for  the  lightness  had  fled  from  my 
spirits,  and  my  heart  was  heavy  enough,  God  knows. 

"Will  it  not  do,  mam'zelle?"  he  asked  anxiously,  and 
with  his  slow,  solemn  utterance ;  "  it  is  not  a  place  that 
will  do  for  a  young  lady  like  you,  is  it?  I  should  have 
counselled  you  to  go  on  to  Jersey,  where  there  is  more 
life  and  gaiety ;  it  is  my  home,  but  for  you  it  will  be  noth- 
ing but  a  dull  prison." 


36  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  No,  no,"  I  answered,  as  the  recollection  of  the  prison 
I  had  fled  from  flashed  across  me ;  "  it  is  a  very  pretty 
place  and  very  safe ;  by-and-by  I  shall  like  it  as  much  as 
you  do,  Tardif." 

The  house  was  a  low,  picturesque  building,  with  thick 
wails  of  stone  and  a  thatched  roof,  which  had  two  little 
dormer  windows  in  it;  but  at  the  most  sheltered  end, 
furthest  from  the  ravine  that  led  down  to  the  sea,  there 
had  been  built  a  small  square  room  of  brick-work.  As 
we  entered  the  fold-yard,  Tardif  pointed  this  room  out  to 
me  as  mine. 

*  I  built  it,"  he  said  softly,  "  for  my  poor  little  wife ;  I 
brought  the  bricks  over  from  Guernsey  in  my  own  boat, 
and  laid  nearly  every  one  of  them  with  my  own  hands ; 
she  died  in  it,  mam'zelle.  Please  God,  you  will  be  both 
happy  and  safe  there!  " 

We  stepped  directly  from  the  stone  causeway  of  the 
yard  into  the  farm-house  kitchen — the  only  sitting-room 
in  the  house  except  my  own.  It  was  exquisitely  clean, 
with  that  spotless  and  scrupulous  cleanliness  which  appears 
impossible  in  houses  where  there  are  carpets  and  curtains, 
and  papered  walls.  An  old  woman,  very  little  and  bent, 
and  dressed  in  an  odd  and  ugly  costume,  met  us  at  the 
door,  dropping  a  courtesy  to  me,  and  looking  at  me  with 
dim,  watery  eyes.  I  was  about  to  speak  to  her,  when 
Tardif  bent  down  his  head,  and  put  his  mouth  to  her  ear, 
shouting  to  her  with  a  loud  voice,  but  in  their  peculiar 
jargon,  of  which  I  could  not  make  out  a  single  word. 

"My  poor  mother  is  deaf,"  he  said  to  me,  "very  deaf; 
neither  can  she  speak  English.  Most  of  the  young 
people  in  Sark  can  talk  in  English  a  little,  but  she  is  old 
and  too  deaf  to  learn.  She  has  only  once  been  off  the 
island." 

I  looked  at  her,  wondering  for  a  moment  what  she  could 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  37 

have  to  think  of;  but  with  an  intelligible  gesture  of  wel- 
come, she  beckoned  me  into  my  own  room.  The  aspect 
of  it  was  somewhat  dreary ;  the  walls  were  of  bare  plaster 
but  dazzlingly  white,  with  one  little  black  silhouette  of  a 
woman's  head  hanging  in  a  common  black  frame  over 
the  low,  open  hearth,  on  which  a  fire  of  sea-weed  was 
smouldering,  with  a  quantity  of  gray  ashes  round  the  small 
centre  of  smoking  embers.  There  was  a  little  round 
table,  uncovered  but  as  white  as  snow,  and  two  chairs,  one 
of  them  an  arm-chair,  and  furnished  with  cushions.  A 
four-post  bedstead,  with  curtains  of  blue  and  white  check, 
occupied  the  larger  portion  of  the  floor. 

It  was  not  a  luxurious  apartment,  and  for  an  instant  I 
could  hardly  realize  the  fact  that  it  was  to  be  my  home 
for  an  indefinite  period.  Some  efforts  had  evidently  been 
made  to  give  it  a  look  of  welcome,  homely  as  it  was.  A 
pretty  china  teacup  and  saucer,  with  a  plate  or  two  to 
match,  were  set  out  on  the  deal  table,  and  the  cushioned 
arm-chair  had  been  drawn  forward  to  the  hearth.  I  sat 
down  in  it,  and  buried  my  face  in  my  hands  thinking,  till 
Tardif  knocked  at  the  door,  and  carried  in  my  trunk. 

"Will  it  do,  mam'zelle?"  he  asked,  "will  it  do?" 

"  It  will  do  very  nicely,  Tardif,"  I  answered ;  "  but  how- 
ever am  I  to  talk  to  your  mother  if  she  does  not  know 
English?" 

"  Mam'zelle,"  he  said,  as  he  uncorded  my  trunk,  "  you 
must  order  me  as  you  would  a  servant.  Through  the 
winter  I  shall  always  be  at  hand ;  and  you  will  soon  be 
used  to  us  and  our  ways,  and  we  shall  be  used  to  you  and 
your  ways.  I  will  do  my  best  for  you,  mam'zelle ;  trust 
me,  I  will  study  to  do  my  best,  and  make  you  very  happy 
here.  I  will  be  ready  to  take  you  away  whenever  you  de- 
sire to  go.     Look  upon  me  as  your  hired  servant." 

He  waited  upon  me  all  the  evening,  but  with  a  quick 


3 8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

attention  to  my  wants,  which  I  had  never  met  with  in  any 
hired  servant.  It  was  not  unfamiliar  to  me,  for  in  my 
own  country  I  had  often  been  served  only  by  men ;  and 
especially  during  my  girlhood,  when  I  had  lived  far  away 
in  the  country,  upon  my  father's  sheep-walk.  I  knew  it 
was  Tardif  who  fried  the  fish  which  came  in  with  my  tea; 
and  when  the  night  closed  in,  it  was  he  who  trimmed  the 
oil-lamp  and  brought  it  in,  and  drew  the  check  curtains 
across  the  low  casement,  as  if  there  were  prying  eyes  to 
see  me  on  the  opposite  bank. 

Then  a  deep  stillness  crept  over  the  solitary  place — a 
stillness  strangely  deeper  than  that  even  of  the  daytime. 
The  wail  of  the  sea-gulls  died  away,  and  the  few  busy 
cries  of  the  farm-yard  ceased;  the  only  sound  that  broke 
the  silence  was  a  muffled,  hollow  boom  which  came  up 
the  ravine  from  the  sea. 

Before  nine  o'clock  Tardif  and  his  mother  had  gone  up 
stairs  to  their  rooms  in  the  thatch ;  and  I  lay  wearied  but 
sleepless  in  my  bed,  listening  to  these  dull,  faint,  ceaseless 
murmurs,  as  a  child  listens  to  the  sound  of  the  sea  in  a 
shell.  Was  it  possible  that  it  was  I,  myself,  the  Olivia 
who  had  been  so  loved  and  cherished  in  her  girlhood,  and 
so  hated  and  tortured  in  later  years,  who  was  come  to  live 
under  a  fisherman's  roof,  in  an  island,  the  name  of  which  I 
barely  knew  four  days  ago? 

I  fell  asleep  at  last,  yet  I  awoke  early;  but  not  so  early 
that  the  other  inmates  of  the  cottage  were  not  up,  and 
about  their  day's  work.  It  was  my  wish  to  wait  upon 
myself,  and  so  diminish  the  cost  of  living  with  these 
secluded  people ;  but  I  found  it  was  not  to  be  so ;  Tardif 
waited  upon  me  assiduously,  as  well  as  his  deaf  mother. 
The  old  woman  would  not  suffer  me  to  do  any  work  in  my 
own  room,  but  put  me  quietly  upon  one  side  when  I  be- 
gan to  make  my  bed.     Fortunately  I  had  plenty  of  sewing 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  39 

to  employ  myself  in ;  for  I  had  taken  care  not  to  waste 
money  by  buying  ready-made  clothes. 

The  equinoctial  gales  came  on  again  fiercely  the  day 
after  I  had  reached  Sark;  and  I  stitched  away  from 
morning  till  night,  trying  to  fix  my  thoughts  upon  my 
mechanical  work. 

When  the  first  week  was  over,  Tardif's  mother  came  to 
me  at  a  time  when  her  son  was  away  out  of  doors,  with  a 
purse  in  her  fingers,  and  by  very  plain  signs  made  me  un- 
derstand that  it  was  time  I  had  paid  the  first  instalment 
of  my  debt  to  her  for  board  and  lodging.  I  was  anxious 
about  my  money. 

No  agreement  had  been  made  between  us  as  to  what  I 
was  to  pay.  I  laid  a  sovereign  down  upon  the  table,  and 
the  old  woman  looked  at  it  carefully,  and  with  a  pleased 
expression ;  but  she  put  it  in  her  purse,  and  walked  away 
with  it,  giving  me  no  change.  Not  that  I  altogether  ex- 
pected any  change ;  they  provided  me  with  everything  I 
needed,  and  waited  upon  me  with  very  careful  service ; 
yet  now  I  could  calculate  exactly  how  long  I  should  be 
safe  in  this  refuge,  and  the  calculation  gave  me  great 
uneasiness.  In  a  few  months  I  should  find  myself  still  in 
need  of  refuge,  but  without  the  means  of  paying  for  it. 
What  would  become  of  me  then? 

Very  slowly  the  winter  wore  on.  How  shall  I  describe 
the  peaceful  monotony,  the  dull,  lonely  safety  of  those 
dark  days  and  long  nights?  I  had  been  violently  tossed 
from  a  life  of  extreme  trouble  and  peril  into  a  profound, 
unbroken,  sleepy  security. 

At  first  the  sudden  change  stupefied  me;  but  after 
awhile  there  came  over  me  an  uneasy  restlessness,  a  long- 
ing to  get  away  from  the  silence  and  solitude,  even  if  it 
were  into  insecurity  and  danger.     I  began  to  wonder  how 


4o  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

the  world  beyond  the  little  island  was  going  on.  No  news 
reached  us  from  without. 

Sometimes  for  weeks  together  it  was  impossible  for  an 
open  boat  to  cross  over  to  Guernsey;  even  when  a  cutter 
accomplished  its  voyage  out  and  in,  no  letters  could  arrive 
for  me.  The  season  was  so  far  advanced  when  I  went  to 
Sark,  that  those  visitors  who  had  been  spending  a  portion 
of  the  summer  there  had  already  taken  their  departure, 
leaving  the  islanders  to  themselves.  They  were  sufficient 
for  themselves;  they  and  their  own  affairs  formed  the 
world.  Tardif  would  bring  home  almost  daily  little  scraps 
of  news  about  the  other  families  scattered  about  Sark; 
but  of  the  greater  affairs  of  life  in  other  countries  he 
could  tell  me  nothing. 

Yet  why  should  I  call  these  greater  affairs?  Each  to 
himself  is  the  centre  of  the  world.  It  was  a  more  import- 
ant thing  to  me  that  I  was  safe,  than  that  the  freedom  of 
England  itself  should  be  secure. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  4I 


CHAPTER   VI. 

TOO   MUCH   ALONE. 

YET  looking  back  upon  that  time,  now  it  is  past,  and 
has  "  rounded  itself  into  that  perfect  star  I  saw  not 
when  I  dwelt  therein,1'  it  would  be  untrue  to  represent 
myself  as  in  any  way  unhappy.  At  times  I  wished  earnestly 
that  I  had  been  born  among  these  people,  and  could  live 
forever  among  them. 

By  degrees  I  discovered  that  Tardif  led  a  somewhat 
solitary  life  himself,  even  in  this  solitary  island,  with  its 
scanty  population.  There  was  an  ugly  church  standing 
in  as  central  and  prominent  a  situation  as  possible,  but 
Tardif  and  his  mother  did  not  frequent  it.  They  be- 
longed to  a  little  knot  of  dissenters,  who  met  for  worship 
in  a  small  room,  when  Tardif  generally  took  the  lead. 
For  this  reason  a  sort  of  coldness  existed  between  him  and 
the  larger  portion  of  his  fellow-islanders. 

But  there  was  a  second  and  more  important  cause  of 
estrangement.  He  had  married  an  Englishwoman  many 
years  ago,  much  to  the  astonishment  and  disappointment 
of  his  neighbors ;  and  since  her  death  he  had  held  him- 
self aloof  from  all  the  good  women  who  would  have  been 
glad  enough  to  undertake  the  task  of  consoling  him  for 
her  loss.  Tardif,  therefore,  was  left  very  much  to  himself 
in  his  isolated  cottage ;  and  his  mother's  deafness  caused 
her  also  to  be  no  very  great  favorite  with  any  of  the  gos- 
sips of  the  island.  It  was  so  difficult  to  make  her  under- 
stand anything  that  could  not  be  expressed  by  signs,  that 


42 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


no  one  except  her  6on  attempted  to  tell  her  the  small 
topics  of  the  day. 

All  this  told  upon  me,  and  my  standing  among  them. 
At  first  I  met  a  few  curious  glances  as  I  roamed  about  the 
island;  but  my  dress  was  as  poor  and  plain  as  any  of 
theirs,  and  I  suppose  there  was  nothing  in  my  appearance, 
setting  aside  my  dress,  which  could  attract  them. 

I  learned  afterward  that  Tardif  had  said  my  name  was 
Ollivier,  and  they  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  I  belonged 
to  a  family  of  that  name  in  Guernsey;  this  shielded  me 
from  the  curiosity  which  might  otherwise  have  been  trou- 
blesome and  dangerous.  I  was  nobody  but  a  poor  young 
woman  from  Guernsey,  who  was  lodging  in  the  spare 
room  of  Tardif's  cottage. 

I  set  myself  to  grow  used  to  their  mode  of  life,  and  if 
possible  to  become  so  useful  to  them  that  when  my  money 
was  all  spent  they  might  be  willing  to  keep  me  with  them ; 
for  I  shrank  from  the  thought  of  the  time  when  I  must  be 
thrust  out  of  this  nest,  lonely  and  silent  as  it  was.  As  the 
long  dismal  nights  of  winter  set  in,  with  the  wind  sweeping 
across  the  island  for  several  days  together  with  a  dreary, 
monotonous  moan  which  never  ceased,  I  generally  sat  by 
their  fire ;  for  I  had  nobody  but  Tardif  to  talk  to,  and 
now  and  then  there  arose  an  urgent  need  within  me  to 
listen  to  some  friendly  voice,  and  to  hear  my  own  in  reply. 

There  were  then  only  two  books  in  the  house,  the  Bible 
and  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  both  of  them  in  French ; 
and  I  had  not  learned  French  beyond  the  few  phrases 
necessary  for  travelling.  But  Tardif  began  to  teach  me 
that,  and  also  to  mend  fishing  nets,  which  I  perservered 
in,  though  the  twine  cut  my  fingers.  Could  I  by  any 
means  make  myself  useful  to  them? 

As  the  spring  came  on  half  my  dulness  vanished.  Sark 
was  more  beautiful  in  its  cliff  scenery  than  anything  I  had 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


43 


ever  seen,  or  could  have  imagined.  Why  cannot  I  de- 
scribe it  to  you?  I  have  but  to  close  my  eyes,  and  my 
memory  paints  it  for  me  in  my  brain,  with  its  innumerable 
islets  engirdling  it,  as  if  to  ward  off  its  busy,  indefatigable 
enemy,  the  sea. 

The  long  sunken  reefs,  lying  below  the  water  at  high 
tide,  but  at  the  ebb  stretching  like  fortifications  about  it, 
as  if  to  make  of  it  a  sure  stronghold  in  the  sea.  The 
strange  architecture  and  carving  of  the  rocks,  with  faces 
and  crowned  heads  but  half  obliterated  upon  them ;  the 
lofty  arches,  with  columns  of  fret-work  bearing  them;  the 
pinnacles  and  sharp  spires;  the  fallen  masses  heaped 
against  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  covered  with  seaweed,  and 
worn  out  of  all  form,  yet  looking  like  the  fragments  of 
some  great  temple,  with  its  treasures  of  sculpture;  and 
about  them  all  the  clear  lucid  water  swelling  and  tossing, 
throwing  over  them  sparkling  sheets  of  foam.  And  the 
brilliant  tone  of  the  golden  and  saffron  lichens,  and  the 
delicate  tint  of  the  gray  and  silvery  ones,  stealing  about 
the  bosses,  and  angles,  and  curves  of  the  rocks,  as  if  the 
rain,  and  the  wind,  and  the  frost  had  spent  their  whole 
power  there  to  produce  artistic  effects.  I  say  my  memory 
paints  it  again  for  me:  but  it  is  only  a  memory,  a  shadow 
that  my  mind  sees;  and  how  can  I  describe  to  you  a 
shadow?  When  words  are  but  phantoms  themselves,  how 
can  I  use  them  to  set  forth  a  phantom? 

Whenever  the  grandeur  of  the  cliffs  had  wearied  me,  as 
one  grows  weary  sometimes  of  too  long,  and  too  close  a 
study  of  what  is  great,  there  was  a  little,  enclosed,  quiet 
graveyard  that  lay  in  the  very  lap  of  the  island,  where  I 
could  go  for  rest.  It  was  a  small  patch  of  ground,  a 
God's  acre,  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  high  hedge-rows,  which 
hid  every  view  from  sight,  except  that  of  the  heavens 
brooding  over  it.     Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  long 


44  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

mossy  mounds  above  the  dead,  and  the  great,  warm,  sunny 
dome  rising  above  them.  Even  the  church  was  not  there, 
for  it  was  built  in  another  spot,  and  had  a  few  graves  of 
its  own  scattered  about  it. 

I  was  sitting  there  one  evening  in  the  early  spring,  after 
the  sun  had  dipped  below  the  line  of  the  high  hedge-row, 
though  it  was  still  shining  in  level  rays  through  it.  No 
sound  had  disturbed  the  deep  silence  for  a  long  time,  ex- 
cept the  twittering  of  birds  among  the  branches;  for  up 
here  even  the  sea  could  not  be  heard  when  it  was  calm. 

I  suppose  my  face  was  sad,  as  most  human  faces  are 
apt  to  be  when  the  spirit  is  busy  in  its  citadel,  and  has  left 
the  outworks  of  the  eyes  and  mouth  to  themselves.  So  I 
was  sitting  quiet  with  my  hands  clasped  about  my  knees, 
and  my  face  bent  down,  when  a  grave  low  voice  at  my 
side  startled  me  back  to  consciousness.  Tardif  was  stand- 
ing beside  me,  and  looking  down  upon  me  with  a  world 
of  watchful  anxiety  in  his  deep  eyes. 

"You  are  sad,  mam'zelle,"  he  said;  "too  sad  for  one 
so  young  as  you  are." 

"Oh!  everybody  is  sad,  Tardif,"  I  answered;  "there  is 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  every  one  in  this  world.  You 
are  often  very  sad  indeed." 

"Ah!  but  I  have  a  cause,"  he  said.  "  Mam'zelle  does 
not  know  that  she  is  sitting  on  the  grave  of  my  little  wife." 

He  knelt  down  beside  it  as  he  spoke,  and  laid  his  hand 
gently  on  the  green  turf.  I  would  have  risen,  but  he 
would  not  let  me. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  sit  still,  mam'zelle.  Yes,  you  would 
have  loved  her,  poor  little  soul!  She  was  an  English- 
woman, like  you,  only  not  a  lady;  a  pretty  little  English 
girl,  so  little  I  could  carry  her  like  a  baby.  None  of  my 
people  took  to  her,  and  she  was  very  lonely,  like  you  again ; 
and  she  pined  and  faded  away,  just  quietly,  never  saying 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  45 

one  word  against  them.  No,  no,  manVzelle,  I  like  to  see 
you  here.  This  is  a  favorite  place  with  you,  and  it  gives 
me  pleasure.  I  ask  myself  a  hundred  times  a  day — Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  to  make  my  young  lady  happy? 
Tell  me  what  I  can  do  more  than  I  have  done." 

"  There  is  nothing,  Tardif,"  I  answered,  "  nothing  what- 
ever. If  you  see  me  sad  sometimes,  take  no  notice  of  it, 
for  you  can  do  no  more  for  me  than  you  are  doing.  As  it 
is  you  are  almost  the  only  friend,  perhaps  the  only  true 
friend,  I  have  in  the  world." 

"  May  God  be  true  to  me  only  as  I  am  true  to  you,"  he 
said  solemnly,  while  his  dark  skin  flushed  and  his  eyes 
kindled.  I  looked  at  him  closely.  A  more  honest  face 
one  could  never  see,  and  his  keen  blue  eyes  met  my  gaze 
steadfastly.  Heavy-hearted  as  I  was  just  then,  I  could 
not  help  but  smile,  and  all  his  face  brightened,  as  the  sea 
at  its  dullest  brightens  suddenly  under  a  stray  gleam  of 
sunshine. 

Without  another  word  we  rose  to  our  feet,  and  stood 
side  by  side  for  a  minute,  looking  down  on  the  little  grave, 
beneath  us.  I  would  have  gladly  changed  places  then 
with  the  lonely  English  girl,  who  had  pined  away  in  this 
remote  island. 

After  that  short,  silent  pause,  we  went  slowly  homeward 
along  the  quiet,  almost  solitary  lanes.  Twice  we  met  a 
fisherman,  with  his  creel  and  nets  across  his  shoulders, 
who  bade  us  good  night ;  but  no  one  else  crossed  our  path. 

It  was  a  profound  monotony,  a  seclusion  I  should  not 
have  had  courage  to  face  wittingly.  But  I  had  been  led 
into  it,  and  I  dared  not  quit  it.     How  long  was  it  to  last? 

A  day  came  after  the  winter  storms,  early  in  March, 
with  all  the  strength  and  sweetness  of  spring;  though  there 
was  sharpness  enough  in  the  air  to  make  my  veins  tingle. 


46  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

The  sun  was  shining  with  so  much  heat,  that  I  might  be 
out  of  doors  all  day  under  the  shelter  of  the  rocks,  in  the 
warm,  southern  nooks  where  the  daisies  were  growing. 
The  birds  sang  more  blithely  than  they  had  ever  done  be- 
fore ;  a  lark  overhead,  flinging  down  his  triumphant  notes; 
a  thrush  whistling  clearly  in  a  hawthorn  bush  hanging  over 
the  cliff;  and  the  cry  of  the  gulls  flitting  about  the  rocks; 
I  could  hear  them  all  at  the  same  moment,  with  the  deep, 
quiet  tone  of  the  sea  sounding  below  their  gay  music. 

Tardif  was  going  to  fish,  and  I  had  helped  him  to  pack 
his  basket.  From  my  niche  in  the  rocks  I  could  see  him 
getting  out  of  the  harbor,  and  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
me,  and  stood  up  in  his  boat,  bare-headed,  bidding  me 
good-by.  I  began  to  sing  before  he  was  quite  out  of 
hearing,  for  he  paused  upon  his  oars  listening  and  had 
given  me  a  joyous  shout,  and  waved  his  hat  round  his 
head,  when  he  was  sure  it  was  I  who  was  singing. 

Nothing  could  be  plainer  than  that  he  had  gone  away 
more  glad  at  heart  than  he  had  been  all  the  winter,  simply 
because  he  believed  that  I  was  growing  lighter-hearted. 
I  could  not  help  laughing,  yet  being  touched  and  softened 
at  the  thought  of  his  pleasure.  What  a  good  fellow  he 
was !  I  had  proved  him  by  this  time,  and  knew  him  to  be 
one  of  the  truest,  most  unselfish  men  on  God's  earth. 

How  good  a  thing  it  was  that  I  had  met  with  him  that 
wild  night  last  October,  when  I  had  fled  like  one  fleeing 
from  a  bitter  slavery!  For  a  few  minutes  my  thoughts 
hovered  about  that  old,  miserable,  evil  time ;  but  I  did  not 
care  to  ponder  over  past  troubles.  It  was  easy  to  forget 
them  to-day,  and  I  would  forget  them.  I  plucked  the 
daisies,  and  listened  almost  drowsily  to  the  birds  and  the 
sea,  and  felt  all  through  me  the  delicious  light  and  heat 
of  the  sun.  Now  and  then  I  lifted  up  my  eyes,  to  watch 
Tardif  tacking  about  on  the  water. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  47 

There  were  several  boats,  but  I  kept  his  in  sight,  by  the 
help  of  a  queer-shaped  patch  upon  one  sail.  I  wished 
lazily  for  a  book,  but  I  should  not  have  read  it  if  I  had 
had  one. 

I  was  taking  into  my  heart  the  loveliness  of  the  spring 
day. 

By  twelve  o'clock  I  knew  my  dinner  would  be  ready, 
and  I  had  been  out  in  the  fresh  air  long  enough  to  be 
quite  ready  for  it.  Old  Mrs.  Tardif  would  be  looking  out 
for  me  impatiently,  that  she  might  get  the  meal  over,  and 
the  things  cleared  away,  and  order  restored  in  her  dwell- 
ing. So  I  quitted  my  warm  nook  with  a  feeling  of  regret, 
though  I  knew  I  could  return  to  it  in  an  hour. 

But  one  can  never  return  to  anything  that  is  once  left. 
When  we  look  for  it  again,  even  though  the  place  may 
remain,  something  has  vanished  from  it  which  can  never 
come  back. 

I  never  returned  to  my  spring  day  upon  the  cliffs  of  Sark. 

A  little  crumbling  path  led  round  the  rock  and  along 
the  edge  of  the  ravine.  I  chose  it  because  from  it  I  could 
see  all  the  fantastic  shore,  bending  in  a  semicircle  toward 
the  isle  of  Breckhou,  with  tiny,  untrodden  bays,  covered 
at  this  hour  with  only  glittering  ripples,  and  with  all  the 
soft  and  tender  shadows  of  the  head-lands  falling  across 
them. 

I  had  but  to  look  straight  below  me,  and  I  could  see 
long  tresses  of  sea-weed  floating  under  the  surface  of  the 
sea.  Both  my  head  and  my  footing  were  steady,  for  I  had 
grown  accustomed  to  giddy  heights  and  venturesome 
climbing. 

I  walked  on  slowly,  casting  many  a  reluctant  glance 
behind  me  at  the  calm  waters,  with  the  boats  gliding 
among  the  islets. 

I  was  just  giving  my  last  look  to  them  when  the  loose 


48  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

stones  on  the  crumbling  path  gave  way  under  my  tread, 
and  before  I  could  recover  my  foot-hold  I  found  myself 
slipping  down  the  almost  perpendicular  face  of  the  cliff, 
and  vainly  clutching  at  every  bramble  and  tuft  of  grass 
growing  in  its  clefts. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  49 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN   ISLAND    WITHOUT   A   DOCTOR. 

I  HAD  not  time  to  feel  any  fear,  for  almost  before  I 
could  realize  the  fact  that  I  was  falling  I  touched  the 
ground.  The  point  from  which  I  had  slipped  was  above 
the  reach  of  the  water,  but  I  fell  upon  the  shingly  beach 
so  heavily  that  I  was  hardly  conscious  for  a  few  minutes. 

When  I  came  to  my  senses  again  I  lay  still,  trying  to 
make  out  where  I  was,  and  how  I  came  there.  I  was 
stunned  and  bewildered.  Underneath  me  were  the  smooth 
round  pebbles,  which  lie  above  the  line  of  the  tide  on  a 
shore  covered  with  shingle.  Above  me  rose  a  dark  frown- 
ing rock,  the  chilly  shadow  of  which  lay  across  me.  With- 
out lifting  my  head  I  could  see  the  water  on  a  level  with 
me,  but  it  did  not  look  on  a  level ;  its  bright  crested  waves 
seemed  swelling  upward  to  the  sky,  ready  to  pour  down 
and  bury  me  beneath  them.  I  was  very  faint,  and  sick, 
and  giddy.  The  ground  felt  as  if  it  were  about  to  sink 
under  me.  My  eyelids  closed  languidly  when  I  did  not 
keep  them  open  by  an  effort;  and  my  head  ached,  and 
my  brain  swam  with  confused  fancies. 

After  some  time,  and  with  some  difficulty,  I  compre- 
hended what  had  happened,  and  recollected  that  it  was 
already  past  mid-day,  and  Mrs.  Tardif  would  be  waiting 
for  me.  I  attempted  to  stand  up,  but  an  acute  pain  in 
my  foot  compelled  me  to  desist.  I  tried  to  turn  myself 
upon  the  pebbles,  and  my  left  arm  refused  to  help  me.  I 
could  not  check  a  sharp  cry  of  suffering  as  my  left  hand 
4 


5° 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


fell  back  upon  the  stones  on  which  I  was  lying.  ,  My  fall 
had  cost  me  something  more  than  a  few  minutes'  insensi- 
bility and  an  aching  head.  I  had  no  more  power  to  move 
than  one  who  is  bound  hand  and  feet. 

After  a  few  vain  efforts  I  lay  quite  still  again,  trying  to 
deliberate  as  well  as  I  could  for  the  pain  which  racked 
me.  I  reckoned  up,  after  many  attempts  in  which  first 
my  memory  failed  me,  and  then  my  faculty  of  calculation, 
what  the  time  of  the  high  tide  would  be,  and  how  soon 
Tardif  would  come  home.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make 
out,  it  would  be  high  water  in  about  two  hours.  Tardif 
had  set  off  at  low  water,  as  his  boat  had  been  anchored  at 
the  foot  of  the  rock,  where  the  ladder  hung;  but  before 
starting  he  had  said  something  about  returning  at  high 
tide,  and  running  up  his  boat  on  the  beach  of  our  little 
bay.  If  he  did  that  he  must  pass  close  by  me.  It  was 
Saturday  morning,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of  returning 
early  on  Saturdays,  that  he  might  prepare  for  the  services 
of  the  next  day.  I  might  count,  then,  upon  the  prospect 
of  his  running  the  boat  into  the  bay;  and  finding  me  there 
within  the  next  two  hours. 

It  took  me  a  very  long  time  to  make  out  all  this,  for 
every  now  and  then  my  brain  seemed  to  lose  its  power 
for  a  while,  and  everything  whirled  about  me.  Especially 
there  was  that  awful  sensation  of  sinking  down,  down 
through  the  pebbles  into  some  chasm  that  was  bottomless. 
I  had  never  either  felt  pain  or  fainted  before,  and  all  this 
alarmed  me. 

Presently  I  began  to  listen  to  the  rattle  of  the  pebbles, 
as  the  rising  tide  flowed  over  them  and  fell  back  again, 
leaving  them  all  ajar  and  grating  against  one  another — a 
strange,  gurgling,  jangling  sound  that  seemed  to  have 
some  meaning.  It  was  very  cold,  and  a  creeping  moisture 
was  oozing  up  from  the  water.     A  vague  wonder  took  hold 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  51 

of  me  as  to  whether  I  was  really  above  the  line  of  the  tide, 
for  now  the  March  tides  were  come  I  did  not  know  how 
high  their  flood  was.  But  I  thought  of  it  without  any- 
active  feeling  of  terror  or  pain.  I  was  numbed  in  body 
and  mind.  The  ceaseless  chime  of  the  waves,  and  the 
regularity  of  the  rattling  play  of  the  pebbles  seemed  to 
lull  and  soothe  me,  almost  in  spite  of  myself.  Cold  I 
was,  and  in  sharp  pain,  but  my  mind  had  not  energy 
enough  either  for  fear  or  effort.  What  appeared  to  me 
most  terrible  was  the  sensation,  coming  back  time  after 
time,  of  sinking,  sinking  into  the  fancied  chasm  beneath 
me. 

I  remember  also  watching  a  spray  of  ivy,  far  above  my 
head  swaying  and  waving  about  in  the  wind ;  and  a  little 
bird,  darting  here  and  there  with  a  brisk  flutter  of  its  tiny 
wings,  and  a  chirping  note  of  satisfaction;  and  the  clouds 
drifting  in  soft,  small  cloudlets  across  the  sky.  These 
things  I  saw,  not  as  if  they  were  real,  but  rather  as  if  they 
were  memories  of  things  that  had  passed  before  my  eyes 
many  years  before. 

At  last — whether  years  or  hours  only  had  gone  by,  I 
could  not  then  have  told  you — I  heard  the  regular  and 
careful  beat  of  oars  upon  the  water,  and  presently  the 
grating  of  a  boat's  keel  upon  the  shingle,  with  the  rattle 
of  a  chain  cast  out  with  the  grapnel.  I  could  not  turn 
round  or  raise  my  head,  but  I  was  sure  it  was  Tardif,  and 
that  he  did  not  yet  see  me,  for  he  was  whistling  softly  to 
himself.     I  had  never  heard  him  whistle  before. 

"Tardif!"  I  cried,  attempting  to  shout,  but  my  voice 
sounded  very  weak  in  my  own  ears,  and  the  other  sounds 
about  me  seemed  very  loud.  He  went  on  with  his  unlad- 
ing, half  whistling  and  half  humming  his  tune,  as  he  landed 
the  nets  and  creel  on  the  beach. 

"Tardif!  "  I  called  again,  summoning  all  my  strength, 


52  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

and  raising  my  head  an  inch  or  two  from  the  hard  pebbles 
which  had  been  its  resting-place. 

He  paused  then,  and  stood  quite  still,  listening.  I 
knew  it,  though  I  could  not  see  him.  I  ran  the  fingers  of 
my  right  hand  through  the  loose  pebbles  about  me,  and 
his  ear  caught  the  slight  noise.  In  a  moment  I  heard  his 
strong  feet  coming  across  them  toward  me. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  mam'zelle,"  he  exclaimed,  "what has  hap- 
pened to  you? " 

I  tried  to  smile  as  his  honest,  brown  face  bent  over  me, 
full  of  alarm.  It  was  so  great  a  relief  to  see  a  face  like 
his  after  that  long,  weary  agony,  for  it  had  been  agony  to 
me,  who  had  not  known  what  bodily  pain  was  like.  But 
in  trying  to  smile  I  felt  my  lips  drawn,  and  my  eyes  blinded 
with  tears. 

"  I've  fallen  down  the  cliff,"  I  said  feebly,  "  and  I  am 
hurt." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  "  he  cried  again.  The  strong  man  shook, 
and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  stooped  down  and  laid  it 
under  my  head  to  lift  it  up  a  little.  His  agitation  touched 
me  to  the  heart,  even  then,  and  I  did  my  best  to  speak 
more  calmly. 

"Tardif,"  I  whispered,  "it  is  not  very  much,  and  I 
might  have  been  killed.  I  think  my  foot  is  hurt,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  my  arm  is  broken." 

Speaking  made  me  feel  giddy  and  faint  again,  so  I  said 
no  more.  He  lifted  me  in  his  arms  as  easily  and  tenderly 
as  a  mother  lifts  up  her  child,  and  carried  me  gently,  tak- 
ing slow  and  measured  strides  up  the  steep  slope  which 
led  homeward.  I  closed  my  eyes,  glad  to  leave  myself 
wholly  in  his  charge,  and  to  have  nothing  farther  to  dread ; 
yet  moaning  a  little,  involuntarily,  whenever  a  fresh  pang 
of  pain  shot  through  me.  Then  he  would  cry  again 
"Mon   Dieu!"  in  a  beseeching  tone,  and  pause  for  an 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


53 


instant  as  if  to  give  me  rest.  It  seemed  a  long  time  be- 
fore we  reached  the  farm-yard  gate,  and  he  shouted,  with 
a  tremendous  voice,  to  his  mother  to  come  and  open  it. 
Fortunately  she  was  in  sight,  and  came  toward  us  quickly. 
He  carried  me  into  the  house,  and  laid  me  down  on  the 
lit  defouaille — a  wooden  frame  forming  a  sort  of  couch, 
and  filled  with  dried  fern,  which  forms  the  principal  piece 
of  furniture  in  every  farm-house  kitchen  in  the  Channel 
Islands.  Then  he  cut  away  the  boot  from  my  swollen 
ankle,  with  a  steady  but  careful  touch,  speaking  now  and 
then  a  word  of  encouragement,  as  if  I  were  a  child  whom 
he  was  tending.  His  mother  stood  by,  looking  on  help- 
lessly and  in  bewilderment,  for  he  had  not  had  time  to 
explain  my  accident  to  her. 

But  for  my  arm,  which  hung  helplessly  at  my  side,  and 
gave  me  excruciating  pain  when  he  touched  it,  it  was 
quite  evident  he  could  do  nothing. 

"Is  there  nobody  who  could  set  it?"  I  asked,  striving 
very  hard  to  keep  calm. 

"We  have  no  doctor  in  Sark  now,"  he  answered. 
"There  is  no  one  but  mother  Renouf.  I  will  fetch 
her." 

But  when  she  came  she  declared  herself  unable  to  set 
a  broken  limb.  They  all  three  held  a  consultation  over 
it  in  their  own  dialect ;  but  I  saw  by  the  solemn  shaking 
of  their  heads,  and  Tardif's  troubled  expression,  that  it 
was  entirely  beyond  her  skill  to  set  it  right.  She  would 
undertake  my  sprained  ankle,  for  she  was  famous  for  the 
cure  of  sprains  and  bruises,  but  my  arm  was  past  her. 
The  pain  I  was  enduring  bathed  my  face  with  perspiration, 
but  very  little  could  be  done  to  alleviate  it.  Tardif's  ex- 
pression grew  more  and  more  distressed. 

"  Mam'zelle  knows,"  he  said,  stooping  down  to  speak 
the  more  softly  to  me,  "  there  is  no  doctor  nearer  than 


54  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Guernsey,  and  the  night  is  not  far  off.  What  are  we  to 
do?" 

"  Never  mind,  Tardif,"  I  answered,  resolving  to  be 
brave ;  "  let  the  women  help  me  into  bed,  and  perhaps  I 
shall  be  able  to  sleep.     We  must  wait  till  morning." 

It  was  more  easily  said  than  done.  The  two  old  women 
did  their  best,  but  their  touch  was  clumsy  and  their  help 
slight,  compared  to  Tardifs.  I  was  thoroughly  worn  out 
before  I  was  in  bed.  But  it  was  a  great  deal  to  find  my- 
self there,  safe  and  warm,  instead  of  on  the  cold,  hard 
pebbles  on  the  beach.  Mother  Renouf  put  my  arm  to 
rest  upon  a  pillow,  and  bathed  and  fomented  my  ankle 
till  it  felt  much  easier. 

Never,  never  shall  I  forget  that  night.  I  could  not 
sleep ;  but  I  suppose  my  mind  wandered  a  little.  Hun- 
dreds of  times  I  felt  myself  down  on  the  shore,  lying  help- 
lessly, while  great  green  waves  curled  themselves  over, 
and  fell  just  within  reach,  ready  to  swallow  me  up,  yet 
always  missing  me.  Then  I  was  back  again  in  my  own 
home  in  Adelaide,  on  my  father's  sheep-farm,  and  he  was 
still  alive,  and  with  no  thought  but  how  to  make  every- 
thing bright  and  gladsome  for  me ;  and  hundreds  of  times 
I  saw  the  woman  who  was  afterward  to  be  my  stepmother, 
stealing  up  to  the  door  and  trying  to  get  in  to  him  and 
me.  Sometimes  I  caught  myself  sobbing  aloud,  and  then 
Tardifs  voice,  whispering  at  the  door  to  ask  how  mara- 
'zelle  was,  brought  me  back  to  consciousness.  Now  and 
then  I  looked  round,  fancying  I  heard  my  mother's  voice 
speaking  to  me,  and  I  saw  only  the  wrinkled,  yellow  face 
of  his  mother,  nodding  drowsily  in  her  seat  by  the  fire. 
Twice  Tardif  brought  me  a  cup  of  tea,  freshly  made. 
I  could  not.  distinctly  make  out  who  he  was,  or  where  I 
was,  but  I  tried  to  speak  loudly  enough  for  him  to  hear 
me  thank  him. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  55 

I  was  very  glad  when  the  first  gleam  of  daylight  shone 
into  my  room.     It  seemed  to  bring  clearness  to  my  brain. 

"  Manvzelle,"  said  Tardif,  coming  to  my  side  very  early 
in  his  fisherman's  dress,  "  I  am  going  to  fetch  a  doctor." 

"  But  it  is  Sunday,"  I  answered  faintly.  I  knew  that  no 
boatman  put  out  to  sea  willingly  on  a  Sunday  from  Sark ; 
and  the  last  fatal  accident,  being  on  a  Sunday,  had  deep- 
ened their  reluctance. 

"  It  will  be  right,  mam'zelle,"  he  answered,  with  glow- 
ing eyes.     "  I  have  no  fear." 

"  Do  not  be  long  away,  Tardif,"  I  said,  sobbing. 

"Not  one  moment  longer  than  I  can  help,"  he  replied. 


56  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


PART  SECOND. 

CHAPTER   I. 

DR.    MARTIN  DOBREE. 

MY  name  is  Martin  Dobree.  Martin  or  Doctor  Martin 
I  was  called  throughout  Guernsey.  It  will  be 
necessary  to  state  a  few  particulars  about  my  family  and 
position,  before  I  proceed  with  my  part  of  this  narrative. 

My  father  was  Dr.  Dobree.  He  belonged  to  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  the  island — a  family  of  distinguished  pur 
sang ;  but  our  branch  of  it  had  been  growing  poorer  in- 
stead of  richer  during  the  last  three  or  four  generations. 
We  had  been  gravitating  steadily  downward. 

My  father  lived  ostensibly  by  his  profession,  but  actually 
upon  the  income  of  my  cousin,  Julia  Dobree,  who  had 
been  his  ward  from  her  childhood.  The  house  we  dwelt 
in,  a  pleasant  one  in  the  Grange,  belonged  to  Julia;  and 
fully  half  of  the  year's  household  expenses  were  defrayed  by 
her.  Our  practice,  which  he  and  I  shared  between  us, 
was  not  a  large  one,  though  for  its  extent  it  was  lucrative 
enough.  But  there  always  is  an  immense  number  of 
medical  men  in  Guernsey  in  proportion  to  its  population, 
and  the  island  is  healthy.  There  was  small  chance  for 
any  of  us  to  make  a  fortune. 

Then  how  was  it  that  I,  a  young  man  still  under  thirty, 
was  wasting  my  time  and  skill,  and  professional  training  by 
remaining  there,  a  sort  of  half  pensioner  on  my  cousin's 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


57 


bounty?  The  thickest  rope  that  holds  a  vessel,  weighing 
scores  of  tons,  safely  to  the  pier-head,  is  made  up  of 
strands  so  slight  that  almost  a  breath  will  break  them. 

First,  then — and  the  strength  of  two-thirds  of  the  strands 
lay  there — was  my  mother.  I  could  never  remember  the 
time  when  she  had  not  been  delicate  and  ailing,  even  when 
I  was  a  rough  schoolboy  at  Elizabeth  College.  It  was 
that  infirmity  of  the  body  which  occasionally  betrays  the 
wounds  of  a  soul.  I  did  not  comprehend  it  while  I  was 
a  boy;  then  it  was  headache  only.  As  I  grew  older  I 
discovered  that  it  was  heartache.  The  gnawing  of  per- 
petual disappointment,  worse  than  a  sudden  and  violent 
calamity,  had  slowly  eaten  away  the  very  foundation  of 
healthy  life.  No  hand  could  administer  any  medicine  for 
this  disease  except  mine,  and  as  soon  as  I  was  sure  of 
that,  I  felt  what  my  first  duty  was. 

I  knew  where  the  blame  of  this  lay,  if  any  blame  there 
were.  I  had  found  it  out  years  ago  by  my  mother's 
silence,  her  white  cheeks,  and  her  feeble  tone  of  health. 
My  father  was  never  openly  unkind  and  careless,  but  there 
was  always  visible  in  his  manner  a  weariness  of  her,  an 
utter  disregard  for  her  feelings.  He  continued  to  like 
young  and  pretty  women,  just  as  he  had  liked  her  because 
she  was  young  and  pretty.  He  remained  at  the  very 
point  he  was  at  when  they  began  their  married  life.  There 
was  nothing  patently  criminal  in  it,  God  forbid ! — nothing 
to  create  an  open  and  a  grave  scandal  on  our  little  island. 
But  it  told  upon  my  mother;  it  was  the  one  drop  of  water 
falling  day  by  day.  "  A  continual  dropping  in  a  very  rainy 
day  and  a  contentious  woman  are  alike,"  says  the  book 
of  Proverbs.  My  father's  small  infidelities  were  much 
the  same  to  my  mother.  She  was  thrown  altogether  upon 
me  for  sympathy,  and  support,  and  love. 

When  I  first  fathomed  this  mystery,  my  heart  rose  in 


ij8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

very  undutiful  bitterness  against  Dr.  Dobree ;  but  by-and- 
by  I  found  that  it  resulted  less  from  a  want  of  fidelity  to 
her  than  from  a  radical  infirmity  in  his  temperament.  It 
was  almost  as  impossible  for  him  to  avoid  or  conceal  his 
1  preference  for  younger  and  more  attractive  women,  as  for 
my  mother  to  conquer  the  fretting  vexation  this  preference 
caused  to  her. 

Next  to  my  mother  came  Julia,  my  cousin,  five  years 
older  than  I,  who  had  coldly  looked  down  upon  me,  and 
snubbed  me  like  a  sister,  as  a  boy;  watched  my  progress 
through  Elizabeth  College,  and  through  Guy's  Hospital; 
and  perceived  at  last  that  I  was  a  young  man  whom  it 
was  no  disgrace  to  call  cousin.  To  crown  all,  she  fell  in 
love  with  me ;  so  at  least  my  mother  told  me,  taking  me 
into  her  confidence,  and  speaking  with  a  depth  of  pleading 
in  her  sunken  eyes,  which  were  worn  with  much  weeping. 
Poor  mother!  I  knew  very  well  what  unspoken  wish  was 
in  her  heart.  Julia  had  grown  up  under  her  care  as  I  had 
done,  and  she  stood  second  to  me  in  her  affection. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  love  any  woman  who  has  a  moderate 
share  of  attractions — at  least  I  did  not  find  it  so  then.  I 
was  really  fond  of  Julia,  too — very  fond.  I  knew  her  as 
intimately  as  any  brother  knows  his  sister.  She  had  kept 
up  a  correspondence  with  me  all  the  time  I  was  at  Guy's, 
and  her  letters  had  been  more  interesting  and  amusing 
than  her  conversation  generally  was.  Some  women,  most 
cultivated  women,  can  write  charming  letters ;  and  Julia 
was  a  highly  cultivated  woman.  I  came  back  from  Guy's 
with  a  very  greatly  increased  regard  and  admiration  for 
my  cousin  Julia. 

So,  when  my  mother,  with  her  pleading,  wistful  eyes, 
spoke  day  after  day  of  Julia,  of  her  dutiful  love  toward 
her,  and  her  growing  love  for  me,  I  drifted,  almost  with- 
out an  effort  of  my  own  volition,  into  an  engagement  with 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


59 


her.  You  see  there  was  no  counterbalance.  I  was  ac- 
quainted with  every  girl  of  my  own  class  on  the  island ; 
pretty  girls  were  many  of  them,  but  there  was  after  all  not 
one  I  preferred  to  my  cousin.  My  old  dreams  and 
romances  about  love,  common  to  every  young  fellow,  had 
all  faded  into  a  very  common-place,  every-day  vision  of 
having  a  comfortable  house  of  my  own,  and  a  wife  as 
good  as  most  other  men's  wives.  Just  in  the  same  way, 
my  ambitious  plans  of  rising  to  the  very  top  of  the  tree  in 
my  profession  had  dwindled  down  to  satisfaction  with  the 
very  limited  practice  of  one  of  our  island  doctors.  I  found 
myself  chained  to  this  rock  in  the  sea;  all  my  future  life 
would  probably  be  spent  there ;  and  fate  offered  me  Julia 
as  the  companion  fittest  for  me.  I  was  contented  with 
my  fate,  and  laughed  off  my  boyish  fancy  that  I  ought  to 
be  ready  to  barter  the  world  for  love. 

Added  to  these  two  strong  ties  keeping  me  in  Guernsey, 
there  were  the  hundred,  the  thousand  small  associations 
which  made  that  island,  and  my  people  living  upon  it, 
dearer  than  any  other  place,  or  any  other  people,  in  the 
world.  Taking  the  strength  of  the  rope  which  held  me 
to  the  pier-head  as  represented  by  ioo,  then  my  love  for 
my  mother  would  stand  at  66^2,  my  engagement  to  Julia 
at  about  20,  and  the  remainder  may  go  toward  my  old 
associations.     That  is  pretty  nearly  the  sum  of  it. 

My  engagement  to  Julia  came  about  so  easily  and 
naturally  that,  as  I  said,  I  was  perfectly  contented  with  it. 
We  had  been  engaged  since  the  previous  Christmas,  and 
were  to  be  married  in  the  early  summer,  as  soon  as  a  trip 
through  Switzerland  would  be  agreeable.  We  were  to  set 
up  housekeeping  for  ourselves ;  that  was  a  point  Julia  was 
bent  upon.  A  suitable  house  had  fallen  vacant  in  one  of 
the  higher  streets  of  St.  Peter-port,  which  commanded  a 
noble  view  of  the  sea  and  the  surrounding  islands.     We 


60  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

had  taken  it,  though  it  was  farther  from  the  Grange  and 
my  mother  than  I  should  have  chosen  my  home  to  be. 
She  and  Julia  were  busy,  pleasantly  busy,  about  the  fur- 
nishing. 

Never  had  I  seen  my  mother  look  so  happy,  or  so  young. 
Even  my  father  paid  her  a  compliment  or  two,  which  had 
the  effect  of  bringing  a  pretty  pink  flush  to  her  white 
cheeks,  and  of  making  her  sunken  eyes  shine.  As  to  my- 
self, I  was  quietly  happy,  without  a  doubt.  Julia  was  a 
good  girl,  everybody  said  that,  and  Julia  loved  me  de- 
votedly. I  was  on  the  point  of  becoming  master  of  a 
house  and  owner  of  a  considerable  income ;  for  Julia  would 
not  hear  of  there  being  any  marriage  settlements  which 
would  secure  to  her  the  property  she  was  bringing  to  me. 
I  found  that  making  love,  even  to  my  cousin  who  was  like 
a  sister  to  me,  was  upon  the  whole  a  pleasurable  occupa- 
tion.    Everything  was  going  on  smoothly. 

That  was  till  about  the  middle  of  March.  I  had  been 
to  church  one  Sunday  morning  with  these  two  women, 
both  devoted  to  me,  and  centring  all  their  love  and  hopes 
in  me,  when,  as  we  entered  the  house  on  our  return,  I 
heard  my  father  calling  "  Martin!  Martin!  "  as  loudly  as 
he  could  from  his  consulting-room.  I  answered  the  call 
instantly,  and  whom  should  I  see  but  a  very  old  friend  of 
mine,  Tardif,  of  the  Havre  Gosselin.  He  was  standing 
near  the  door,  as  if  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  sit  down.  His 
handsome,  but  weather-beaten  face  betrayed  great  anxiety, 
and  his  shaggy  mustache  rose  and  fell,  as  if  the  mouth  be- 
low it  was  tremulously  at  work.  My  father  looked 
chagrined  and  irresolute. 

"Here's  a  pretty  piece  of  work,  Martin,"  he  said; 
"  Tardif  wants  one  of  us  to  go  back  with  him  to  Sark,  to 
see  a  woman  who  has  fallen  from  the  cliffs  and  broken  her 
arm,  confound  it!  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  6 1 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  good  God,  Dr.  Martin,"  cried 
Tardif  excitedly,  and  of  course  speaking  in  the  Sark  dia- 
lect, "  I  beg  of  you  to  come  this  instant  even.  She  has 
been  lying  in  anguish  since  mid-day  yesterday — twenty- 
four  hours  now,  sir.  I  started  at  dawn  this  morning,  but 
both  wind  and  tide  were  against  me,  and  I  have  been 
waiting  here  some  time.  Be  quick,  doctor.  Mon  Dieu ! 
if  she  should  be  dead!  " 

The  poor  fellow's  voice  faltered,  and  his  eyes  met  mine 
imploringly.  He  and  I  had  been  fast  friends  in  my  boy- 
hood, when  all  my  holidays  were  spent  in  Sark,  although 
he  was  some  years  older  than  I ;  and  our  friendship  was 
still  firm  and  true,  though  it  had  slackened  a  little  from 
absence.  I  took  his  hand  heartily,  giving  it  a  good  hard 
grip  in  token  of  my  unaltered  friendship — a  grip  which 
he  returned  with  his  fingers  of  iron  till  my  own  tingled 
again. 

"  I  knew  you'd  come,"  he  gasped. 

"  Ah,  I'll  go,  Tardif,"  I  said;  "  only  I  must  get  a  snatch 
of  something  to  eat  while  Dr.  Dobree  puts  up  what  I  shall 
have  need  of.  I'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  Go  into 
the  kitchen,  and  get  some  dinner  yourself." 

"Thank  you,  Dr.  Martin,"  he  answered,  his  voice  still 
unsteady  and  his  mustache  quivering;  "but  I  can  eat 
nothing.  I'll  go  down  and  have  the  boat  ready.  You'll 
waste  no  time?  " 

"  Not  a  moment,"  I  promised. 

I  left  my  father  to  put  up  the  things  I  should  require, 
supposing  he  had  heard  all  the  particulars  of  the  accident 
from  Tardif.  He  was  inclined  to  grumble  a  little  at  me 
for  going;  but  I  asked  him  what  else  I  could  have  done. 
As  he  had  no  answer  ready  to  that  question,  I  walked  away 
to  the  dining-room,  where  my  mother  and  Julia  were 
waiting;  for  dinner  was  ready,  as  we  dined  early  on  Sun- 


62  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

days  on  account  of  the  servants.  Julia  was  suffering  from 
the  beginning  of  a  bilious  attack,  to  which  she  was  sub- 
ject, and  her  eyes  were  heavy  and  dull.  I  told  them 
hastily  where  I  was  going,  and  what  a  hurry  I  was  in. 

"You  are  never  going  across  to  Sark  to-day!  "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Why  not?  "  I  asked,  taking  my  seat  and  helping  my- 
self quickly. 

"Because  I  am  sure  bad  weather  is  coming,"  she  an- 
swered, looking  anxiously  through  a  window  facing  the 
west.  "  I  could  see  the  coast  of  France  this  morning  as 
plainly  as  Sark,  and  the  gulls  are  keeping  close  to  the 
shore,  and  the  sunset  last  night  was  threatening.  I  will 
go  and  look  at  the  storm-glass." 

She  went  away,  but  came  back  again  very  soon,  with  an 
increase  of  anxiety  in  her  face.  "  Don't  go,  dear  Martin," 
she  said,  with  her  hand  upon  my  shoulder ;  "  the  storm- 
glass  is  as  troubled  as  it  can  be,  and  the  wind  is  veering 
round  to  the  west.  You  know  what  that  foretells  at  this 
time  of  the  year.  There  is  a  storm  at  hand;  take  my 
word  for  it,  and  don't  venture  across  to  Sark  to-day." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  the  poor  woman?"  I  re- 
monstrated. "  Tardif  says  she  has  been  suffering  the  pain 
of  a  broken  limb  these  twenty-four  hours.  It  would  be 
my  duty  to  go  even  if  the  storm  were  here,  unless  the  risk 
was  exceedingly  great.  Come,  Julia,  remember  you  are  to 
be  a  doctor's  wife,  and  don't  be  a  coward." 

"Don't  go!"  she  reiterated,  "for  my  sake  and  your 
mother's.  I  am  certain  some  trouble  will  come  of  it.  We 
shall  be  frightened  to  death ;  and  this  woman  is  only  a 
stranger  to  you.     Oh,  I  cannot  bear  to  let  you  go!  " 

I  did  not  attempt  to  reason  with  her,  for  I  knew  of  old 
that  when  Julia  was  bilious  and  nervous  she  was  quite 
deaf  to  reason.     I  only  stroked  the  hand  that  lay  on  my 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


63, 


shoulder,  and  went  on  with  my  dinner  as  if  my  life  de- 
pended upon  the  speed  with  which  I  despatched  it. 

"  Uncle,"  she  said,  as  my  father  came  in  with  a  small 
portmanteau  in  his  hand,  "tell  Martin  he  must  not  go. 
There  is  sure  to  be  a  storm  to-night." 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  he  answered.  "I  should  be  glad 
enough  for  Martin  to  stay  at  home,  but  there's  no  help 
for  it,  I  suppose.  There  will  be  no  storm  at  present,  and 
they'll  run  across  quickly.  It  will  be  the  coming  back 
that  will  be  difficult.  You'll  scarcely  get  home  again  to- 
night, Martin." 

"  No,"  I  said.  "  I'll  stop  at  Gavey's,  and  come  back 
in  the  Sark  cutter  if  it  has  begun  to  ply.  If  not,  Tardif 
must  bring  me  over  in  the  morning." 

"  Don't  go,"  persisted  Julia,  as  I  thrust  myself  into  my 
rough  pilot  coat,  and  then  bent  down  to  kiss  her  cheek. 
Julia  always  presented  me  her  cheek,  and  my  lips  had 
never  met  hers  yet.  My  mother  was  standing  by  and 
looking  tearful,  but  she  did  not  say  a  word ;  she  knew 
there  was  no  question  about  what  I  ought  to  do.  Julia 
followed  me  to  the  door  and  held  me  fast  with  both  hands 
round  my  arm,  sobbing  out  hysterically,  "  Don't  go." 
Even  when  I  had  released  myself  and  was  running  down  the 
drive,  I  could  hear  her  still  calling,  "  O  Martin,  don't  go!  " 

I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  hearing.  I  felt  sorry  for  her, 
yet  there  was  a  considerable  amount  of  pleasure  in  being 
the  object  of  so  much  tender  solicitude.  I  thought  of  her 
for  a  minute  or  two  as  I  hurried  along  the  steep  streets 
leading  down  to  the  quay.  But  the  prospect  before  me 
caught  my  eye.  Opposite  lay  Sark,  bathed  in  sunlight, 
and  the  sea  between  was  calm  enough  at  present.  A  ride 
across,  with  a  westerly  breeze  filling  the  sails,  and  the  boat 
dancing  lightly  over  the  waves,  would  not  be  a  bad  ex- 
change for  a  dull  Sunday  afternoon,  with  Julia  at  the 


64  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Sunday-school  and  my  mother  asleep.  Besides,  it  was  the 
path  of  duty  which  was  leading  me  across  the  quiet  gray 
sea  before  me. 

Tardif  was  waiting,  with  his  sails  set  and  oars  in  the 
row-locks,  ready  for  clearing  the  harbor.  I  took  one  of 
them,  and  bent  myself  willingly  to  the  light  task.  There 
was  less  wind  than  I  had  expected,  but  what  there  was 
blew  in  our  favor.  We  were  very  quickly  beyond  the  pier- 
head, where  a  group  of  idlers  was  always  gathered,  who 
sent  after  us  a  few  warning  shouts.  Nothing  could  be 
more  exhilarating  than  our  onward  progress.  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  been  a  prisoner,  with  chains  which  had  pressed 
heavily  yet  insensibly  upon  me,  and  that  now  I  was  free. 
I  drew  into  my  lungs  the  fresh,  bracing,  salt  air  of  the  sea 
with  a  deep  sigh  of  delight. 

It  struck  me  after  a  while  that  my  friend  Tardif  was 
unusually  silent.  The  shifting  of  the  sails  appeared  to 
give  him  plenty  to  do;  and  to  my  surprise,  instead  of 
keeping  to  the  ordinary  course,  he  ran  recklessly  as  it 
seemed  across  the  grunes,  which  lie  all  about  the  bed  of 
the  channel  between  Guernsey  and  Sark.  These  grimes 
are  reefs,  rising  a  little  above  low  water,  but  as  the  tide 
was  about  half -flood  they  were  a  few  feet  below  it ;  yet  at 
times  there  was  scarcely  enough  depth  to  float  us  over 
them,  while  the  brown  sea-weed  torn  from  their  edges 
lay  in  our  wake,  something  like  the  swathes  of  grass  in  a 
meadow  after  the  scythe  has  swept  through  it.  Now  and 
then  came  a  bump  and  a  scrape  of  the  keel  against  their 
sharp  ridges. 

The  sweat  stood  in  beads  upon  Tardifs  face,  and  his 
thick  hair  fell  forward  over  his  forehead,  where  the  great 
veins  in  the  temples  were  purple  and  swollen.  I  spoke 
to  him  after  a  heavier  bump  over  the  rocks  than  any  we 
had  yet  come  to. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  65 

"  Tardif,"  I  said,  "  we  are  shaving  the  weeds  a  little  too 
close,  aren't  we?  " 

"  Look  behind  you,  Dr.  Martin,"  he  answered,  shifting 
the  sails  a  little. 

I  did  look  behind  us.  We  were  more  than  half-way 
over  the  channel,  and  Guernsey  lay  four  miles  or  so  west 
of  us ;  but  instead  of  the  clear  outline  of  the  island  stand- 
ing out  against  the  sky,  I  could  see  nothing  but  a  bank  of 
white  fog.  The  afternoon  sun  was  shining  brightly  over 
it,  but  before  long  it  would  dip  into  its  dense  folds. 

The  fogs  about  our  islands  are  peculiar.  You  may  see 
them  form  apparently  thick  blocks  of  blanched  vapor,  with 
a  distinct  line  between  the  atmosphere  where  the  haze  is 
and  where  it  is  not.  To  be  overtaken  by  a  fog  like  this, 
which  would  almost  hide  Tardif  at  one  end  of  the  boat 
from  me  at  the  other,  would  be  no  laughing  matter  in  a 
sea  lined  with  sunken  reefs.  The  wind  had  almost  gone, 
but  a  little  breeze  still  caught  us  from  the  north  of  the  fog- 
bank.  Without  a  word  I  took  the  oars  again,  while 
Tardif  devoted  himself  to  the  sails  and  the  helm. 

"A  mile  nearer  home,"  he  said,  "and  I  could  row  my 
boat  as  easily  in  the  dark  as  you  could  ride  your  horse 
along  a  lane." 
5 


66  THE  DOCTORS  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A    SURPRISE. 

MY  face  was  turned  westward  now,  and  I  kept  my  eye 
upon  the  fog-bank  creeping  stealthily  after  us.  I 
thought  of  my  mother  and  Julia,  and  the  fright  they  would 
be  in.  Moreover  a  fog  like  this  was  pretty  often  suc- 
ceeded by  a  squall,  especially  at  this  season;  and  when  a 
westerly  gale  blew  up  from  the  Atlantic  in  the  month  of 
March,  no  one  could  foretell  when  it  would  cease. 

I  had  been  weather-bound  in  Sark,  when  a  boy,  for 
three  weeks  at  one  time,  when  provisions  ran  short,  and 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  buy  a  loaf  of  bread.  I  could 
not  help  laughing  at  the  recollection,  but  I  kept  an  an- 
xious look-out  toward  the  west.  Three  weeks'  imprison- 
ment in  Sark  now  would  be  a  bore. 

But  the  fog  remained  almost  stationary  in  the  front  of 
Guernsey,  and  the  round  red  eye-ball  of  the  sun  glared 
after  us  as  we  ran  nearer  and  nearer  to  Sark.  The  tide 
was  with  us,  and  carried  us  on  buoyantly.  We  anchored 
at  the  fisherman's  landing-place  below  the  cliff  of  the 
Havre  Gosselin,  and  we  climbed  readily  up  the  rough  ladder 
which  leads  to  the  path.  Tardif  made  his  boat  secure, 
and  followed  me ;  he  passed  me,  and  strode  on  up  the 
steep  track  to  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  as  if  impatient  to 
reach  his  home.  It  was  then  that  I  gave  my  first  serious 
thought  to  the  woman  who  had  met  with  the  accident. 

"Tardif,  who  is  the  person  that  is  hurt?"  I  asked, 
"and  whereabout  did  she  fall?  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  67 

"She  fell  down  yonder,"  he  answered,  with  an  odd 
quiver  in  his  voice,  as  he  pointed  to  a  rough  and  rather 
high  portion  of  the  cliff  running  inland ;  "  the  stones  rolled 
from  under  her  feet  so,"  he  added,  crushing  down  a 
quantity  of  the  loose  gravel  with  his  foot,  "  and  she  slipped. 
She  lay  on  the  shingle  underneath  for  two  hours  before  I 
found  her — two  hours,  Dr.  Martin!  " 

"  That  was  bad,"  I  said,  for  the  good  fellow's  voice 
failed  him — "  very  bad.  A  fall  like  that  might  have  killed 
her." 

We  went  on,  he  carrying  his  oars,  and  I  my  little  port- 
manteau. I  heard  Tardif  muttering,  "Killed  her!"  in 
a  tone  of  terror ;  but  his  face  brightened  a  little  when  we 
reached  the  gate  of  the  farm-yard.  He  laid  down  the 
oars  noiselessly  upon  the  narrow  stone  causeway  before 
the  door,  and  lifted  the  latch  as  cautiously  as  if  he  was 
afraid  to  disturb  some  sleeping  baby. 

He  had  given  me  no  information  with  regard  to  my  pa- 
tient; and  the  sole  idea  I  had  formed  of  her  was  of  a 
strong  sturdy  Sark  woman,  whose  constitution  would  be 
tough,  and  her  temperament  of  a  stolid,  phlegmatic  tone. 
There  was  not  ordinarily  much  sickness  among  them,  and 
this  case  was  evidently  one  of  pure  accident.  I  expected 
to  find  a  nut-brown,  sunburnt  woman,  with  a  rustic  face, 
who  would  very  probably  be  impatient  and  unreasonable 
under  the  pain  I  should  be  compelled  to  inflict  upon  her. 

It  had  been  my  theory  that  a  medical  man,  being  ad- 
mitted to  the  highest  degree  of  intimacy  with  his  patients, 
was  bound  to  be  as  insensible  as  an  anchorite  to  any 
beauty  or  homeliness  in  those  whom  he  was  attending 
professionally ;  he  should  have  eyes  only  for  the  malady 
he  came  to  consider  and  relieve.  Dr.  Dobree  had  often 
sneered  and  made  merry  at  my  high-flown  notions  of  honor 
and  duty;  but  in  our  practice  at  home  he  had  given  me 


68  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

no  opportunities  of  trying  them.  He  had  attended  all  our 
younger  and  more  attractive  patients  himself,  and  had 
handed  over  to  my  care  all  the  old  people  and  children — 
on  Julia's  account,  he  had  said,  laughing. 

Tardif's  mother  came  to  us  as  we  entered  the  house. 
She  was  a  little  ugly  woman,  stone  deaf,  as  I  knew  of  old. 
Yet  in  some  mysterious  way  she  could  make  out  her  son's 
deep  voice,  when  he  shouted  into  her  ear.  He  did  not 
speak  now,  however,  but  made  dumb  signs  as  if  to  ask 
how  all  was  going  on.  She  answered  by  a  silent  nod,  and 
beckoned  me  to  follow  her  into  an  inner  room,  which 
opened  out  of  the  kitchen. 

It  was  a  small  crowded  room,  with  a  ceiling  so  low,  it 
seemed  to  rest  upon  the  four  posts  of  the  bedstead.  There 
were  of  course  none  of  the  dainty  little  luxuries  about  it, 
with  which  I  was  familiar  in  my  mother's  bed-room.  A 
long  low  window  opposite  the  bed  threw  a  strong  light 
upon  it.  There  were  check  curtains  drawn  round  it,  and 
a  patch-work  quilt,  and  rough,  home-spun  linen.  Every- 
thing was  clean,  but  coarse  and  frugal,  such  as  I  expected 
to  find  about  my  Sark  patient,  in  the  home  of  a  fisherman. 

But  when  my  eye  fell  upon  the  face  resting  on  the  rough 
pillow  I  paused  involuntarily,  only  just  controlling  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise.  There,  was  absolutely  nothing  in 
the  surroundings  to  mark  her  as  a  lady,  yet  I  felt  in  a 
moment  that  she  was  one.  There  lay  a  delicate  refined 
face,  white  as  the  linen,  with  beautiful  lips  almost  as  white ; 
and  a  mass  of  light,  shining  silky  hair  tossed  about  the 
pillow;  and  large  dark-gray  eye  gazing  at  me  beseech- 
ingly, with  an  expression  that  made  my  heart  leap  as  it 
had  never  leapt  before. 

That  was  what  I  saw,  and  could  not  forbear  seeing.  I 
tried  to  recall  my  theory,  and  to  close  my  eyes  to  the  pa- 
thetic beauty  of  the  face  before  me :  but  it  was  altogether 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  69 

in  vain.  If  I  had  seen  her  before,  or  if  I  had  been  pre- 
pared to  see  any  one  like  her,  I  might  have  succeeded ; 
but  I  was  completely  thrown  off  my  guard.  There  the 
charming  face  lay:  the  eyes  gleaming,  the  white  forehead 
tinted,  and  the  delicate  mouth  contracting  with  pain:  the 
bright  silky  curls  tossed  about  in  confusion.  I  see  it  now, 
just  as  I  saw  it  then. 


70  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   III. 

WITHOUT    RESOURCES. 

1  SUPPOSE  I  did  not  stand  still  more  than  five  seconds, 
yet  during  that  pause  a  host  of  questions  had  flashed 
through  my  brain.  Who  was  this  beautiful  creature? 
Where  had  she  come  from?  How  did  it  happen  that  she 
was  in  Tardif's  house?  and  so  on.  But  I  recalled  myself 
sharply  to  my  senses;  I  was  here  as  her  physician,  and 
common  sense  and  duty  demanded  of  me  to  keep  my  head 
clear. 

I  then  advanced  to  her  side,  and  took  the  small,  blue- 
veined  hand  into  mine,  and  felt  her  pulse  with  my  fingers. 
It  beat  under  them  a  low  but  fast  measure ;  too  fast  by 
a  great  deal.  I  could  see  that  the  general  condition  of 
her  health  was  perfect,  a  great  charm  in  itself  to  me ;  but 
she  had  been  bearing  great  pain  for  over  twenty-eight 
hours,  and  she  was  becoming  exhausted.  A  shudder  ran 
through  me  at  the  thought  of  that  long  spell  of  suffering. 

"  You  are  in  very  great"  pain,  I  fear,"  I  said,  lowering 
my  voice. 

"  Yes,"  her  white  lips  answered,  and  she  tried  to  smile 
a  patient  though  a  dreary  smile,  as  she  looked  up  into  my 
face;  "  my  arm  is  broken.     Are  you  a  doctor?  " 

"  I  am  Dr.  Martin  Dobree,"  I  said,  passing  my  hand 
softly  down  her  arm.  The  fracture  was  above  the  elbow, 
and  was  of  a  kind  to  make  the  setting  of  it  give  her  sharp, 
acute  pain.  I  could  see  she  was  scarcely  fit  to  bear  any 
further  suffering  just  then;  but  what  was  to  be  done? 
She  was  not  likely  to  get  much  rest  till  the  bone  was  set. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  71 

"Have  you  had  much  sleep  since  your  fall?"  I  asked, 
looking  at  the  weariness  visible  in  her  eyes. 

"Not  any,"  she  replied;   "not  one  moment's  sleep." 

"  Did  you  have  no  sleep  all  night?  "  I  inquired  again. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  could  not  fall  asleep." 

There  were  two  things  I  could  do — give  her  an  opiate, 
and  strengthen  her  with  sleep  beforehand,  or  administer 
chloroform  to  her  before  the  operation.  I  hesitated  be- 
tween the  two.  A  natural  sleep  would  have  done  her  a 
world  of  good,  but  there  was  a  gleam  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
feverish  throb  in  her  pulse,  which  gave  me  no  hope  of 
that.  Perhaps  the  chloroform,  if  she  had  no  objection 
to  it,  would  answer  best. 

"  Did  you  ever  take  chloroform?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  I  never  needed  it,"  she  answered. 

"  Should  you  object  to  taking  it?  " 

"  Anything,"  she  replied  passively.  "  I  will  do  anything 
you  wish." 

I  went  back  into  the  kitchen  and  opened  the  port- 
manteau my  father  had  put  up  for  me.  Splints  and 
bandages  were  there  in  abundance,  enough  to  set  half  the 
arms  in  the  island,  but  neither  chloroform  nor  anything 
in  the  shape  of  an  opiate  could  I  find.  I  might  almost  as 
well  have  come  to  Sark  altogether  unprepared  for  my  case. 

What  could  I  do?  There  are  no  shops  in  Sark,  and 
drugs  of  any  kind  were  out  of  the  question.  There  was 
not  a  chance  of  getting  what  I  needed  to  calm  and  soothe 
a  highly-nervous  and  finely-strung  temperament  like  my 
patient's.  A  few  minutes  ago  I  had  hesitated  about  using 
chloroform.  Now  I  would  have  given  half  of  everything 
I  possessed  in  the  world  for  an  ounce  of  it. 

I  said  nothing  to  Tardif,  who  was  watching  me  with  his 
deep-set  eyes,  as  closely  as  if  I  was  meddling  with  some  pre- 
cious possession  of  his  own.     I  laid  the  bundle  of  splints 


72  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

and  rolls  of  linen  down  on  the  table  with  a  professional  air, 
while  I  was  inwardly  execrating  my  father's  negligence. 

I  emptied  the  portmanteau  in  the  hope  of  finding  some 
small  phial  or  box.  Any  opiate  would  have  been  wel- 
come to  me,  that  would  have  dulled  those  over-wrought 
nerves.  But  the  practice  of  using  anything  of  the  kind 
was  not  in  favor  with  us  generally  in  the  Channel  Islands, 
and  my  father  had  probably  concluded  that  a  Sark  woman 
would  not  consent  to  use  them.  At  any  rate,  there  they 
were  not. 

I  stood  for  a  few  minutes  deep  in  thought.  The  day- 
light was  going,  and  it  was  useless  to  waste  time ;  yet  I 
found  myself  shrinking  oddly  from  the  duty  before. 
Tardif  could  not  help  but  see  my  chagrin  and  hesitation. 

"  Doctor,"  he  cried,  "she  is  not  going  to  die?  " 

"No,  no,"  I  answered,  calling  back  my  wandering 
thoughts  and  energies ;  "  there  is  not  the  smallest  danger 
of  that.  I  must  go  and  set  her  arm  at  once,  and  then  she 
will  sleep." 

I  returned  to  the  room,  and  raised  her  as  gently  and 
painlessly  as  I  could,  motioning  to  the  old  woman  to  sit 
beside  her  on  the  bed,  and  hold  her  steadily.  I  thought 
once  of  calling  in  Tardif  to  support  her  with  his  strong 
frame,  but  I  did  not. 

She  moaned,  though  very  softly,  when  I  moved  her, 
and  she  tried  to  smile  again  as  her  eyes  met  mine  looking 
anxiously  at  her.  That  smile  made  me  feel  like  a  child. 
If  she  did  it  again  I  knew  my  hands  would  be  unsteady, 
and  her  pain  would  be  tenfold  greater. 

"  I  would  rather  you  cried  out  or  shouted,"  I  said. 
"  Don't  try  to  control  yourself  when  I  hurt  you.  You 
need  not  be  afraid  of  seeming  impatient,  and  a  loud 
scream  or  two  would  do  you  good." 

But  I  knew  quite  well  as  I  spoke  that  she  would  never 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


73 


scream  aloud.  There  was  the  self-control  of  culture  about 
her.  A  woman  of  a  lower  class  might  shriek  and  cry,  but 
this  girl  would  try  to  smile  at  the  moment  when  the  pain 
was  keenest.  The  white  round  arm  under  my  hands  was 
cold,  and  the  muscles  were  soft  and  unstrung. 

I  felt  the  ends  of  the  broken  bone  grating  together  as 
I  drew  them  into  their  right  places,  and  the  sensation 
went  through  and  through  me.  I  had  set  scores  of  broken 
limbs  before  with  no  feeling  like  this,  which  was  so  near 
unnerving  me.  But  I  kept  my  hands  steady,  and  my  at- 
tention fixed  upon  my  work.  I  felt  like  two  persons — a 
surgeon  who  had  a  simple  scientific  operation  to  perform, 
and  a  mother  who  feels  in  her  own  person  every  pang  her 
child  has  to  suffer. 

All  the  time  the  girl's  white  face  and  firmly-set  lips  lay 
under  my  gaze,  with  the  wide-open,  unflinching  eyes  look- 
ing straight  at  me:  a  mournful,  silent,  appealing  face, 
which  betrayed  the  pain  I  made  her  suffer  ten  times  more 
than  any  cries  or  shrieks  could  have  done.  I  thanked 
God  in  my  heart  when  it  was  over  and  I  could  lay  her 
down  again.  I  smoothed  the  coarse  pillows  for  her  to  lie 
more  comfortably  upon  them,  and  I  spread  my  cambric 
handkerchief  in  a  double  fold  between  her  cheek  and  the 
rough  linen — too  rough  for  a  soft  cheek  like  hers. 

"  Lie  quite  still,"  I  said.  "  Do  not  stir,  but  go  to  sleep 
as  fast  as  you  can." 

She  was  not  smiling  now,  and  she  did  not  speak;  but 
the  gleam  in  her  eyes  was  growing  wilder,  and  she  looked 
at  me  with  a  wandering  expression.  If  sleep  did  not  come 
very  soon  there  would  be  mischief.  I  drew  the  curtains 
across  the  window  to  shut  out  the  twilight,  and  motioned 
to  the  old  woman  to  sit  quietly  by  the  side  of  our  patient. 

Then  I  went  out  to  Tardif. 

He  had  not  stirred  from  the  place  and  position  in  which 


74  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  had  left  him.  I  am  sure  no  sound  could  have  reached 
him  from  the  inner  room,  for  we  had  been  so  still  that 
during  the  whole  time  I  could  hear  the  beat  of  the  sea 
dashing  up  between  the  high  cliffs  of  the  Havre  Gosselin. 
Up  and  down  went  Tardif's  shaggy  mustache,  the  surest 
indication  of  emotion  with  him,  and  he  fetched  his  breath 
almost  with  a  sob. 

"Well,  Dr.  Martin?1'  was  all  he  said. 

"  The  arm  is  set,1'  I  answered,  "  and  now  she  must  get 
some  sleep.  There  is  not  the  least  danger,  only  we  will 
keep  the  house  as  quiet  as  possible." 

"  I  must  go  and  bring  in  the  boat,11  he  replied,  bestirring 
himself  as  if  some  spell  was  at  an  end.  "  There  will  be  a 
storm  to-night,  and  I  should  sleep  the  sounder  if  she  was 
safe  ashore.11 

"  I'll  come  with  you/'  I  said,  glad  to  get  away  from  the 
sea-weed  fire. 

It  was  not  quite  dark,  and  the  cliffs  stood  out  against  the 
sky  in  odder  and  more  grotesque  shapes  than  by  daylight. 
A  host  of  sea-mews  were  fluttering  about  and  uttering 
the  most  unearthly  hootings,  but  the  sea  was  as  yet  quite 
calm,  save  where  it  broke  in  wavering,  serpentine  lines 
over  the  submerged  reefs  which  encircle  the  island.  The 
tidal  current  was  pouring  rapidly  through  the  very  narrow 
channel  between  Sark  and  the  little  isle  of  Breckhou,  and 
its  eddies  stretching  to  us  made  it  rather  an  arduous  task 
to  get  Tardif's  boat  on  shore  safely.  But  the  work  was 
pleasant  just  then.  It  kept  our  minds  away  from  useless 
anxieties  about  the  girl.  An  hour  passed  quickly,  and  up 
the  ravine,  in  the  deep  gloom  of  the  overhanging  rocks, 
we  made  our  way  homeward. 

"  You  will  not  quit  the  island  to-morrow,  doctor,"  said 
Tardif,  standing  at  his  door,  and  scanning  the  sky  with 
his  keen,  weather-wise  eyes. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


75 


"  I  must,"  I  answered ;  "  I  must  indeed,  old  fellow. 
You  are  no  land  lubber,  and  you  will  run  me  over  in  the 
morning." 

"  No  boat  will  leave  Sark  to-morrow,"  said  Tardif, 
shaking  his  head. 

We  went  in,  and  he  threw  off  his  jacket  and  rolled  up 
his  sleeves,  preparatory  to  frying  some  fish  for  supper.  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  ravenously  hungry,  for  I  had  eaten 
nothing  since  dinner,  and  as  far  as  I  knew  Tardif  had  had 
nothing  since  his  early  breakfast,  but  as  a  fisherman  he 
was  used  to  long  spells  of  fasting.  While  he  was  busy 
cooking  I  stole  quietly  into  the  inner  room  to  look  after 
my  patient. 

The  feeble  light  entering  by  the  door,  which  I  left  open, 
showed  me  the  old  woman  comfortably  asleep  in  her  chair, 
but  not  so  the  girl.  I  had  told  her  when  I  laid  her  down 
that  she  must  lie  quite  still,  and  she  was  obeying  me  im- 
plicity.  Her  cheek  still  rested  upon  my  handkerchief, 
and  the  broken  arm  remained  undisturbed  upon  the  pillow 
which  I  had  placed  under  it.  But  her  eyes  were  wide 
open  and  shining  in  the  dimness,  and  I  fancied  I  could  see 
her  lips  moving  incessantly,  though  soundlessly.  I  laid 
my  hand  across  her  eyes,  and  felt  the  long  lashes  brush 
against  the  palm,  but  the  eyelids  did  not  remain  closed. 

"You  must  go  to  sleep,"  I  said,  speaking  distinctly  and 
authoritatively;  wondering  at  the  time  how  much  power 
my  will  would  have  over  her.  Did  I  possess  any  of  that 
magnetic,  tranquillizing  influence  about  which  Jack  Senior 
and  I  had  so  often  laughed  incredulously  at  Guy's?  Her 
lips  moved  fast ;  for  now  my  eyes  had  grown  used  to  the 
dim  light  I  could  see  her  face  plainly,  but  I  could  not 
catch  a  syllable  of  what  she  was  whispering  so  busily  to 
herself. 

Never  had  I   felt   so  helpless   and   disconcerted   in  the 


76  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

presence  of  a  patient.  T  could  positively  do  nothing  for 
her.  The  case  was  not  beyond  my  skill,  but  all  medicinal 
resources  were  beyond  my  reach.  Sleep  she  must  have, 
yet  how  was  I  to  administer  it  to  her? 

I  returned,  troubled  and  irritable,  to  search  once  more 
my  empty  portmanteau.  Empty  it  was,  except  of  the 
current  number  of  Pwich,  which  my  father  had  consider- 
ately packed  among  the  splinters  for  my  Sunday  evening 
reading.  I  flung  it  and  the  bag  across  the  kitchen,  with 
an  ejaculation  not  at  all  flattering  to  Dr.  Dobree,  nor  in 
accordance  with  the  fifth  commandment. 

"What  is  the  matter,  doctor?"  inquired  Tardif. 

I  told  him  in  a  few  sharp  words  what  I  wanted  to  soothe 
my  patient.  In  an  instant  he  left  his  cooking  and  thrust 
his  arms  into  his  blue  jacket  again. 

"You  can  finish  it  yourself,  Doctor  Martin,"  he  said 
hurriedly;  "  I'll  run  over  to  old  mother  Renouf ;  she'll 
have  some  herbs  or  something  to  send  mam'zelleto  sleep." 

"  Bring  her  back  with  you,"  I  shouted  after  him  as  he 
sped  across  the  yard.  Mother  Renouf  was  no  stranger  to 
me.  While  I  was  a  boy  she  had  charmed  my  warts  away, 
and  healed  the  bruises  which  were  the  inevitable  conse- 
quences of  cliff -climbing.  I  scarcely  liked  her  coming  in 
to  fill  up  my  deficiencies,  and  I  knew  our  application  to 
her  for  help  would  be  inexpressibly  gratifying.  But  I  had 
no  other  resource  than  to  call  her  in  as  a  fellow-practi- 
tioner, and  I  knew  she  would  make  a  first-rate  nurse,  for 
which  Suzanne  Tardif  was  unfitted  by  her  deafness. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  77 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A   RIVAL   PRACTITIONER. 

MOTHER  RENOUF  arrived  from  the  other  end  of 
the  island  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  borne  along 
by  Tardif  as  if  he  were  a  whirlwind  and  she  a  leaf  caught 
in  its  current.  She  was  a  short,  squat  old  woman,  with 
a  skin  tanned  like  leather,  and  kindly  little  blue  eyes, 
which  twinkled  with  delight  and  pride. 

Yes,  there  they  are,  photographed  somewhere  in  my 
brain,  the  wrinkled,  yellow,  withered  faces  of  the  two  old 
women,  their  watery  eyes  and  toothless  mouths,  with 
figures  as  shapeless  as  the  boulders  on  the  beach,  watch- 
ing beside  the  bed  where  lay  the  white  but  tenderly  beau- 
tiful face  of  the  young  girl,  with  her  curls  of  glossy  hair 
tossed  about  the  pillow,  and  her  long,  tremulous  eyelashes 
making  a  shadow  on  her  rounded  cheek. 

Mother  Renouf  gave  me  a  hearty  tap  on  the  shoulder, 
and  chuckled  as  merrily  as  the  shortness  of  her  breath 
after  her  rapid  course  would  permit.  The  few  English 
phrases  she  knew  fell  far  short  of  expressing  her  triumph 
and  exultation;  but  I  was  resolved  to  confer  with  her 
affably.  My  patient's  case  was  too  serious  for  me  to  stand 
upon  my  dignity. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  "have  you  any  simples  to  send  this 
poor  girl  to  sleep?  Tardif  told,  me  that  you  had  taken 
her  sprained  ankle  under  your  charge.  I  find  I  have 
nothing  with  me  to  induce  sleep,  and  you  can  help  us  if 
any  one  can." 


78  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Leave  her  to  me,  my  dear  little  doctor,"  the  answered, 
a  laugh  gurgling  in  her  thick  throat ;  "  leave  her  to  me. 
You  have  done  your  part  with  the  bones.  I  have  no  touch 
at  all  for  broken  limbs,  though  my  father,  good  man,  could 
handle  them  with  any  doctor  in  all  the  islands.  But  I'll 
send  her  to  sleep  for  you,  never  fear." 

"You  will  stay  with  us  all  night?"  I  said  coaxingly. 
"  Suzanne  is  deaf,  and  ears  are  of  use  in  a  sick-room,  you 
know.  I  intended  to  go  to  Gavey's,  but  I  shall  throw 
myself  down  here  on  the  fern  bed,  and  you  can  call  me  at 
any  moment,  if  there  is  need." 

"  There  will  be  no  need,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  con- 
fidence. "  My  little  mam'zelle  will  be  sound  asleep  in  ten 
minutes  after  she  has  taken  my  draught." 

I  went  into  the  room  with  her  to  have  a  look  at  our 
patient.  She  had  not  stirred  yet,  but  was  precisely  in  the 
position  in  which  I  placed  her  after  the  operation  was 
ended.  There  was  something  peculiar  about  this  which 
distressed  me.  I  asked  mother  Renouf  to  move  her  gen- 
tly, and  bring  her  face  more  toward  me.  The  burning 
eyes  opened  widely  as  soon  as  she  felt  the  old  woman's 
arm  under  her,  and  she  looked  up,  with  a  flash  of  intelli- 
gence, into  my  face.  I  stooped  down  to  catch  the  whisper 
with  which  her  lips  were  moving. 

"  You  told  me  not  to  stir,"  she  murmured. 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "but  you  are  not  to  lie  still  till  you  are 
cramped  and  stiff.     Are  you  in  much  pain  now?  " 

"  He  told  me  not  to  stir,"  muttered  the  parched  lips 
again — "not  to  stir.  I  must  lie  quite  still,  quite  still, 
quite  still!  " 

The  feeble  voice  died,  away  as  she  whispered  the  last 
words,  but  her  lips  went  on  moving,  as  if  she  was  repeat- 
ing them  to  herself  still.  Certainly  there  was  mischief 
here.     My  last  order,  given  just  before  her  mind  began  to 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  79 

wander,  had  taken  possession  of  her  brain,  and  retained 
authority  over  her  will.  There  was  a  pathetic  obedience 
in  her  perfect  immobility,  united  with  the  shifting  restless 
glance  of  her  eyes,  and  the  ceaseless  ripple  of  movement 
about  her  mouth,  which  made  me  trebly  anxious  and  un- 
easy. A  dominant  idea  had  taken  hold  upon  her  which 
might  prove  dangerous.  I  was  glad  when  mother  Renouf 
had  finished  stewing  her  decoction  of  poppyheads,  and 
brought  the  nauseous  draught  for  the  girl  to  drink. 

But  whether  the  poppyheads  had  lost  their  virtue,  or 
our  patient's  nervous  condition  had  become  too  critical, 
too  full  of  excitement  and  disturbance,  I  cannot  tell.  It 
is  certain  that  she  was  not  sleeping  in  ten  minutes'  or  in 
an  hour's  time.  Old  dame  Tardif  went  off  to  her  bed- 
room, and  mother  Renouf  took  her  place  by  the  girl's  side. 
Tardif  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave  the  kitchen,  though 
he  appeared  to  be  falling  asleep  heavily,  waking  up  at 
intervals,  and  starting  with  terror  at  the  least  sound.  For 
myself  I  scarcely  slept  at  all,  though  I  found  the  fern  bed 
a  tolerably  comfortable  resting-place. 

The  gale  that  Tardif  had  foretold  came  with  great  vio- 
lence about  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  wind  howled 
up  the  long  narrow  ravine,  like  a  pack  of  wolves :  mighty 
storms  of  hail  and  rain  beat  in  torrents  against  the  win- 
dows, and  the  sea  lifted  up  its  voice  with  unmistakable 
energy.  Now  and  again  a  stronger  gust  than  the  others 
appeared  to  threaten  to  carry  off  the  thatched  roof  bodily, 
and  leave  us  exposed  to  the  tempest  with  only  the  thick 
stone  walls  about  us;  and  the  latch  of  the  outer  door 
rattled  as  if  some  one  was  striving  to  enter. 

I  am  not  at  all  fanciful,  but  just  then  the  notion  came 
across  me  that  if  that  door  opened  we  should  see  the  grim 
skeleton,  Death,  on  the  threshold,  with  his  bleached,  un- 
clad bones  dripping  in  the  storm.     I  laughed  at  the  ghastly 


80  THE   DOCTOR' S  DILEMMA. 

fancy,  and  told  it  to  Tardif  in  one  of  his  waking  intervals, 
but  he  was  so  terrified  and  troubled  by  it  that  it  grew  to 
have  some  little  importance  in  my  own  eyes.  So  the  night 
wore  slowly  away,  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner  ticking  out 
the  seconds  and  striking  the  hours  with  a  fidelity  to  its 
duty,  which  helped  to  keep  me  awake.  Twice  or  thrice 
I  crept,  with  quite  unnecessary  caution,  into  the  room  of 
my  patient. 

No,  there  was  no  symptom  of  sleep  there.  The  pulse 
grew  more  rapid,  the  temples  throbbed,  and  the  fever 
gained  ground.  Mother  Renouf  was  ready  to  weep  with 
vexation.  The  girl  herself  sobbed  and  shuddered  at  the 
loud  sounds  of  the  tempest  without;  but  yet,  by  a  firm, 
supreme  effort  of  her  will,  which  was  exhausting  her 
strength  dangerously,  she  kept  herself  quite  still.  I  would 
have  given  up  a  year  or  two  of  my  life  to  be  able  to  set 
her  free  from  the  bondage  of  my  own  command. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  81 


CHAPTER   V. 

LOCKS    OF   HAIR. 

THE  westerly  gale,  rising  every  few  hours  into  a  squall, 
gave  me  no  chance  of  leaving  Sark  the  next  day, 
nor  for  some  days  afterward ;  but  I  was  not  at  all  put  out 
by  my  captivity.  All  my  interest,  my  whole  being  in  fact, 
was  absorbed  in  the  care  of  this  girl,  stranger  as  she  was. 
I  thought  and  moved,  lived  and  breathed,  only  to  fight 
step  by  step  against  delirium  and  death,  and  to  fight  with- 
out my  accustomed  weapons.  Sometimes  I  could  do 
nothing  but  watch  the  onset  and  inroads  of  the  fever  most 
helplessly. 

There  seemed  to  me  to  be  no  possibility  of  aid.  The 
stormy  waters  which  beat  against  that  tittle  rock  in  the  sea 
came  swelling  and  rolling  in  from  the  vast  plain  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  broke  in  tempestuous  surf  against  the  island. 
The  wind  howled,  and  the  rain  and  hail  beat  across  us 
almost  incessantly  for  two  days,  and  Tardif  himself  was 
kept  a  prisoner  in  the  house,  except  when  he  went  to  look 
after  his  live  stock.  No  doubt  it  would  have  been  prac- 
ticable for  me  to  get  as  far  as  the  hotel,  but  to  what  good? 
It  would  be  quite  deserted,  for  there  were  no  visitors  to 
Sark  at  this  season,  and  I  did  not  give  it  a  second  thought. 

I  was  entirely  engrossed  in  my  patient,  and  I  learned 
for  the  first  time  what  their  task  is  who  hour  after  hour 
watch  the  progress  of  disease  in  the  person  of  one  dear 
to  them. 

Tardif  occupied  himself  with  mending  his  nets,  pausing 
6 


82  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

frequently  with  his  solemn  eyes  fixed  upon  the  door  of 
the  girl's  room,  very  much  as  a  patient  mastiff  watches 
the  spot  where  he  knows  his  master  is  near  to  him,  though 
out  of  sight.  His  mother  went  about  her  household  work 
ploddingly,  and  mother  Renouf  kept  manfully  to  her  post, 
in  turn  with  me,  as  sentinel  over  the  sick-bed.  There 
the  young  girl  lay  whispering  from  morning  till  night,  and 
from  night  till  morning  again — always  whispering.  The 
fever  gained  ground  from  hour  to  hour.  I  had  no  data 
by  which  to  calculate  her  chances  of  getting  through  it ; 
but  my  hopes  were  very  low  at  times. 

On  the  Tuesday  afternoon,  in  a  temporary  lull  of  the 
hail  and  wind,  I  started  off  on  a  walk  across  the  island. 
The  wind  was  still  blowing  from  the  south  west,  and  filling 
all  the  narrow  sea  between  us  and  Guernsey  with  boiling 
surge.  Very  angry  looked  the  masses  of  foam  whirling 
about  the  sunken  reefs,  and  very  ominous  the  low-lying, 
hard  blocks  of  clouds  all  along  the  horizon.  I  strolled  as 
far  as  the  Coupee,  that  giddy  pathway  between  Great  and 
Little  Sark,  where  one  can  see  the  seething  of  the  waves 
at  the  feet  of  the  cliffs  on  both  sides,  three  hundred  feet 
below  one. 

Something  like  a  panic  seized  me.  My  nerves  were  too 
far  unstrung  for  me  to  venture  across  the  long  narrow 
isthmus.  I  turned  abruptly  again,  and  hurried  as  fast  as 
my  legs  would  carry  me  back  to  Tardif's  cottage. 

I  had  been  away  less  than  an  hour,  but  an  advantage 
had  been  taken  of  my  absence.  I  found  Tardif  seated  at 
the  table,  with  a  tangle  of  silky,  shining  hair  lying  before 
him.  A  tear  or  two  had  fallen  upon  it  from  his  eyes.  I 
understood  at  a  glance  what  it  meant.  Mother  Renouf 
had  cut  off  my  patient's  pretty  curls  as  soon  as  I  was  out 
of  the  house.  I  could  not  be  angry  with  her,  though  I 
did  not  suppose  it  would  do  much  good,  and  I  felt  a  sort 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  83 

of  resentment,  such  as  a  mother  would  feel,  at  this  sacri- 
fice of  a  natural  beauty.  They  were  all  disordered  and 
ravelled.  Tardifs  great  hand  caressed  them  tenderly, 
and  I  drew  out  one  long,  glossy  tress,  and  wound  it  about 
my  fingers,  with  a  heavy  heart. 

"  It  is  like  the  pretty  feathers  of  a  bird  that  has  been 
wounded,"  said  Tardif  sorrowfully. 

Just  then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  and  a  sharp 
click  of  the  latch,  loud  enough  to  penetrate  dame  Tardifs 
deaf  ears  or  to  arouse  our  patient,  if  she  had  been  sleep- 
ing. Before  either  of  us  could  move,  the  door  was  thrust 
open,  and  two  young  ladies  appeared  upon  the  door-sill. 

They  were — it  flashed  across  me  in  an  instant — old 
school- fellows  and  friends  of  Julia's.  I  declare  to  you 
honestly,  I  had  scarcely  had  one  thought  of  Julia  till  now. 
My  mother  I  had  wished  for,  to  take  her  place  by  this 
poor  girl's  side,  but  Julia  had  hardly  crossed  my  mind. 
Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  should  the  appearance  of  these 
friends  of  hers  be  so  distasteful  to  me  just  now?  I  had 
known  them  all  my  life,  and  liked  them  as  well  as  any 
girls  I  knew;  but  at  this  moment  the  very  sight  of  them 
was  annoying. 

They  stood  in  the  doorway,  as  much  astonished  and 
thunderstricken  as  I  was,  glaring  at  me,  so  it  seemed  to 
me,  with  that  soft,  bright  brown  lock  of  hair  curling  and 
clinging  round  my  finger.  Never  had  I  felt  so  foolish  or 
guilty. 


84  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


A    RUSE. 


"lVTARTIN  DOBREE!"  ejaculated  both  in  one 
[VI      breath. 

"  Yes,  mesdemoiselles,"  I  said  uncoiling  the  tress  of 
hair  as  if  it  had  been  a  serpent,  and  going  forward  to  greet 
them;  "are  you  surprised  to  see  me?" 

"Surprised!  "  echoed  the  elder.  "  No;  we  are  amazed 
— petrified!  However  did  you  get  here?  When  did  you 
come?  " 

"  Quite  easily,"  I  replied.  "  I  came  on  Sunday,  and 
Tardif  fetched  me  in  his  own  boat.  If  the  weather  had 
permitted  I  should  have  paid  you  a  call;  but  you  know 
what  it  has  been." 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  Emma;  "and  how  is  dear 
Julia?     She  will  be  very  anxious  about  you." 

"  She  was  on  the  verge  of  a  bilious  attack  when  I  left 
her,"  I  said;  "that  will  tend  to  increase  her  anxiety." 

"  Poor,  dear  girl!  "  she  replied  sympathetically.  "But, 
Martin,  is  this  young  woman  here  so  very  ill  ?  We  have 
heard  from  the  Renoufs  she  had  had  a  dangerous  fall. 
To  think  of  you  being  in  Sark  ever  since  Sunday,  and  we 
never  heard  a  word  of  it!  " 

No,  thanks  to  Tardif's  quiet  tongue,  and  mother 
Renoufs  assiduous  attendance  upon  mam'zelle,  my  sojourn 
in  the  island  had  been  kept  a  secret ;  now  that  was  at  an 
end. 

"Is  that  the  young  woman's  hair?"  asked  Emma,  as 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  85 

Tardif  gathered  together  the  scattered  tresses  and  tied 
them  up  quickly  in  a  little  white  handkerchief,  out  of  their 
sight  and  mine.  I  saw  them  again  afterward.  The  hand- 
kerchief had  been  his  wife's — white,  with  a  border  of  pink 
roses. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  to  her  question,  "  it  was  necessary  to 
cut  it  off.     She  is  dangerously  ill  with  fever." 

Both  of  them  shrank  a  little  toward  the  door.  A  sud- 
den temptation  assailed  me,  and  took  me  so  much  by 
surprise  that  I  had  yielded  before  I  knew  I  was  attacked. 
It  was  their  shrinking  movement  that  did  it.  My  answer 
was  almost  as  automatic  and  involuntary  as  their  retreat. 

"  You  see  it  would  not  be  wise  for  any  of  us  to  go 
about,"  I  said.  "A  fever  breaking  out  in  the  island, 
especially  now  you  have  no  resident  doctor,  would  be  very 
serious.  I  think  it  will  be  best  to  isolate  this  case  till  we 
see  the  nature  of  the  fever.  You  will  do  me  a  favor  by 
warning  the  people  away  from  us  at  present.  The  storm 
has  saved  us  so  far,  but  now  we  must  take  other  precau- 
tions." 

This  I  said  with  a  grave  tone  and  face,  knowing  all  the 
while  that  there  was  no  fear  whatever  for  the  people  of 
Sark.  Was  there  a  propensity  in  me,  not  hitherto  devel- 
oped, to  make  the  worst  of  a  case? 

"  Good-by,  Martin,  good-by,"  cried  Emma,  backing 
out  through  the  open  door.  "Come  away,  Maria.  We 
have  run  no  risk  yet,  Martin,  have  we?  Do  not  come 
any  nearer  to  us.  We  have  touched  nothing,  except  shak- 
ing hands  with  you.     Are  we  quite  safe  ?  " 

"  Is  the  young  woman  so  very  ill  ?  "  inquired  Maria 
from  a  safe  distance  outside  the  house. 

I  shook  my  head  in  silence,  and  pointed  to  the  door  of 
the  inner  room,  intimating  to  them  that  she  was  no  farther 
away    than   there.     An   expression   of  horror  came   over 


S6  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

both  their  faces.  Scarcely  waiting  to  bestow  upon  me  a 
gesture  of  farewell,  they  fled,  and  I  saw  them  hurrying 
with  unusual  rapidity  across  the  fold. 

I  had  at  least  secured  isolation  for  myself  and  my  pa- 
tient. But  why  had  I  been  eager  to  do  so?  I  could  not 
answer  that  question  to  myself,  and  I  did  not  ponder  over 
it  many  minutes.  I  was  impatient,  yet  strangely  reluctant, 
to  look  at  the  sick  girl  again,  after  the  loss  of  her  beautiful 
hair.  It  was  still  daylight.  The  change  in  her  appear- 
ance struck  me  as  singular.  Her  face  before  had  a  look 
of  suffering  and  trouble,  making  it  almost  old,  charming 
as  it  was ;  now  she  had  the  aspect  of  quite  a  young  girl, 
scarcely  touching  upon  womanhood.  Her  hair  had  not 
been  shorn  off  closely — the  woman  could  not  manage  that 
— and  short,  wavy  tresses,  like  those  of  a  young  child, 
were  curling  about  her  exquisitely  shaped  head.  The 
white  temples,  with  their  blue,  throbbing  veins,  were  more 
visible,  with  the  small,  delicately  shaped  ears.  I  should 
have  guessed  her  age  now  as  barely  fifteen — almost  that 
of  a  child.  Thus  changed,  I  felt  more  myself  in  her 
presence,  more  as  I  should  have  been  in  attendance  upon 
any  child.  I  scanned  her  face  narrowly,  and  it  struck  me 
that  there  was  a  perceptible  alteration ;  an  expression  of 
exhaustion  or  repose  was  creeping  over  it.  The  crisis  of 
the  fever  was  at  hand.  The  repose  of  death  or  the  whole- 
some sleep  of  returning  health  was  not  far  off.  Mother 
Renouf  saw  it  as  well  as  myself. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  8 J 


CHAPTER   VII. 

WHO    IS    SHE  ? 

WE  sat  up  again  together  that  night,  Tardif  and  I. 
He  would  not  smoke,  lest  the  scent  of  the  tobacco 
should  get  in  through  the  crevices  of  the  door,  and  lessen 
the  girl's  chance  of  sleep ;  but  he  held  his  pipe  between 
his  teeth,  taking  an  imaginary  purl  now  and  then,  that  he 
might  keep  himself  wide  awake.  We  talked  to  one  an- 
other in  whispers. 

"Tell  me  all  you  know  about  mam'zelle,"  I  said.  He 
had  been  chary  of  his  knowledge  before,  but  his  heart 
seemed  open  at  this  moment.  Most  hearts  are  more  open 
at  midnight  than  at  any  other  hour. 

"  There's  not  much  to  tell,  doctor,"  he  answered.  "  Her 
name  is  Ollivier,  as  I  said  to  you;  but  she  does  not  think 
she  is  any  kin  to  the  Olliviers  of  Guernsey.  She  is  poor, 
though  she  does  not  look  as  if  she  had  been  born  poor, 
does  she?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least  degree,"  I  said.  "  If  she  is  not  a  lady 
by  birth,  she  is  one  of  the  first  specimens  of  Nature's  gen- 
tlefolks I  have  ever  come  across." 

"Ah,  there  is  a  difference!  "  he  said,  sighing.  "I  feel 
it,  doctor,  in  every  word  I  speak  to  her,  and  every  step  I 
walk  with  her  eyes  upon  me.  Why  cannot  I  be  like  her, 
or  like  you?  You'll  be  on  a  level  with  her,  and  I  am 
down  far  below  her." 

I  looked  at  him  curiously.     The  slouching  figure — well 


88  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

shaped  as  it  was — the  rough,  knotted  hands,  the  unkempt 
mass  of  hair  about  his  head  and  face,  marked  him  for 
what  he  was — a  toiler  on  the  sea  as  well  as  on  the  land. 
He  understood  my  scrutiny,  and  colored  under  it  like  a 
girl. 

"You  are  a  better  fellow  than  I  am,  Tardif,"  I  said; 
"but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  talk.  I  think  we 
ought  to  communicate  with  the  young  lady's  friends,  who- 
ever they  may  be,  as  soon  as  there  are  any  means  of  com- 
municating with  the  rest  of  the  world.  We  should  be  in 
a  fix  if  anything  should  happen  to  her.  Have  you  no  clue 
to  her  friends?  " 

"  She  is  not  going  to  die!  "  he  cried.  "No,  no,  doctor. 
God  must  hear  my  prayers  for  her.  I  have  never  ceased 
to  lift  up  my  voice  to  Him  in  my  heart  since  I  found  her 
on  the  shingle.     She  will  not  die !  " 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  I  said ;  "  but  in  any  case  we  should 
write  to  her  friends.  Has  she  written  to  any  one  since 
she  came  here?  " 

"  Not  to  a  soul,"  he  answered  eagerly.  "  She  told  me 
she  had  no  friends  nearer  than  Australia.  That  is  a  great 
way  off." 

"And  has  she  had  no  letters?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  one,"  he  replied.  "  She  has  neither  written  nor 
received  a  single  letter." 

"  But  how  did  you  come  across  her  ?  "  I  inquired. 
"  She  did  not  fall  from  the  skies,  I  suppose.  How  was  it 
she  came  to  live  in  this  out-of-the-world  place  with  you?  " 

Tardif  smoked  his  imaginary  pipe  with  great  persever- 
ance for  some  minutes,  his  face  overcast  with  thought. 
But  presently  it  cleared,  and  he  turned  to  me  with  a  frank 
smile. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Doctor  Martin,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  the   Seigneur  was  in   London  last  autumn, 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  89 

and  there  was  a  little  difficulty  in  the  Court  of  Chefs  Plaid 
here  about  an  ordonnance  we  could  not  agree  over,  and 
I  went  across  to  London  to  see  the  Seigneur  for  myself. 
It  was  in  coming  back  I  met  with  Mam'zelle  Ollivier.  I 
was  paying  my  fare  at  Waterloo  Station — the  omnibus 
fare  I  mean — and  I  was  turning  away,  when  I  heard  the 
man  speak  grumblingly.  I  thought  it  was  at  me,  and  I 
looked  back,  and  there  she  stood  before  him,  looking 
scared  -and  frightened  at  his  rough  words.  Doctor,  I 
never  could  bear  to  see  any  soft,  tender,  young  thing  in 
trouble.  If  it's  nothing  but  a  little  bird  that  has  fallen 
out  of  its  warm  nest  or  a  lamb  slipped  down  among  the 
cliffs,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  risk  my  life  to  put  it  back  again  in 
some  safe  place.  Yes,  and  I  have  done  it  scores  of  times, 
when  I  dare  not  let  my  poor  mother  know.  Well,  there 
stood  mam'zelle,  pale  and  trembling,  with  the  tears  ready 
to  fall  in  her  eyes;  just  such  a  soft,  poor,  tender  soul  as 
my  little  wife  used  to  be.  You  remember  my  little  wife, 
Doctor  Martin?" 

I  only  nodded  as  he  looked  at  me. 

"Just  such  another,"  he  went  on;  "only  this  one  was  a 
lady,  and  less  able  to  take  care  of  herself.  Her  trouble 
was  nothing  but  the  omnibus  fare,  and  she  had  no  change, 
nothing  but  an  Australian  sovereign ;  so  I  paid  it  for  her. 
I  kept  pretty  near  her  about  the  station  while  she  was 
buying  her  ticket,  for  I  overheard  two  young  men,  who 
were  roaming  up  and  down,  say,  as  they  looked  at  her, 
*  Pas  de  gants,  et  des  souliers  de  velours ! '  That  was 
true ;  she  had  no  gloves  on  her  hands,  and  her  little  feet 
had  nothing  on  but  some  velvet  slippers,  all  wet  and 
muddy  with  the  dirty  streets.  So  I  walked  up  to  her,  as 
if  I  had  been  her  servant,  you  understand,  and  put  her 
into  a  carriage,  and  stood  at  the  door  of  it,  keeping  off 
any  young  men  who  wished  to  get  in — for  she  was  such  a 


go  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

pretty  young  thing — till  the  train  was  ready  to  start,  and 
then  I  got  into  the  nearest  second-class  carriage  there 
was  to  her.1' 

"  Well,  Tardif  ?  "  I  said  impatiently,  as  he  paused,  look- 
ing absently  into  the  dull  embers  of  the  sea-weed  fire. 

"  I  turned  it  over  in  my  own  mind  then,"  he  continued, 
"  and  I've  turned  it  over  in  my  own  mind  since,  and  I 
can  make  no  sort  of  an  account  of  it — a  young  lady  trav- 
elling without  any  friends  in  a  dress  like  that,  as  if  she 
had  not  had  a  minute  to  spare  in  getting  ready  for  her 
journey.  It  was  a  bad  night  for  a  journey,  too.  Could, 
she  be  going  to  see  some  friend  who  was  dying?  At 
every  station  I  looked  out  to  see  if  my  young  lady  left  the 
train ;  but  no,  not  even  at  Southampton.  Was  she  going 
on  to  France?  '  I  must  look  out  for  her  at  the  pier-head,' 
I  said  to  myself.  But  when  we  stopped  at  the  pier  I  did 
not  want  her  to  think  I  was  watching  her,  only  I  stood 
well  in  the  light,  that  she  might  see  me  when  she  looked 
round.  I  saw  her  stand  as  if  she  was  considering,  and  I 
moved  away  very  slowly  to  our  boat,  to  give  her  the 
chance  of  speaking  to  me  if  she  wished.  But  she  only 
followed  me  very  quietly,  as  if  she  did  not  want  me  to  see 
her,  and  she  went  down  into  the  ladies'  cabin  in  a  mo- 
ment, out  of  sight  Then  I  thought,  '  She  is  running  away 
from  some  one,  or  from  something.'  She  had  no  shawls, 
or  umbrellas,  or  baskets,  such  as  ladies  are  generally  cum- 
bered with,  and  that  looked  strange." 

"  How  was  she  dressed?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  wore  a  soft,  bright  brown  jacket,"  he  answered — 
"a  seal-skin  they  call  it,  though  I  never  saw  a  seal  with  a 
skin  like  that — and  a  hat  like  it,  and  a  blue  silk  gown, 
and  her  little  muddy  velvet  slippers.  It  was  a  strange 
dress  for  travelling,  wasn't  it,  doctor?  " 

"  Very  strange,  indeed,"  I  repeated.     An  idea  was  buz- 


THE   DOCTOR'S'  DILEMMA.  91 

zing  about  my  brain  that  I  had  heard  a  description  ex- 
actly similar  before,  but  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me 
recall  where.  I  could  not  wait  to  hunt  it  out  then,  for 
Tardif  was  in  a  full  flow  of  confidence. 

"  But  my  heart  yearned  to  her,"  he  said,  "  more  than 
ever  it  did  over  any  bird  fallen  from  its  nest,  or  any  lamb 
that  had  slipped  down  the  cliffs.  All  the  softness  and  all 
the  helplessness  of  every  poor  little  creature  I  had  ever 
seen  in  my  life  seemed  about  her;  all  the  hunted  crea- 
tures and  all  the  trapped  creatures  came  to  my  mind.  I 
can  hardly  tell  you  about  it,  doctor.  I  could  have  risked 
my  life  a  hundred  times  over  for  her.  It  was  a  rough 
night,  and  I  kept  seeing  her  pale,  hunted-looking  face 
before  me,  though  there  was  not  half  the  danger  I've 
often  been  in  round  our  islands.  I  couldn't  keep  myself 
from  fancying  we  were  all  going  down  to  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  and  that  poor  young  thing,  running  away  from 
one  trouble,  was  going  to  meet  a  worse — if  it  is  worse  to 
die  than  to  live  in  great  trouble.  Doctor  Martin,  they 
tell  me  all  the  bed  of  the  sea  out  yonder  under  the  Atlantic 
is  a  smooth,  smooth  floor,  with  no  currents,  or  tides,  or 
streams,  but  a  great  calm ;  and  there  is  no  life  down  there 
of  any  kind.  Well,  that  night  I  seemed  to  see  the  dead 
who  have  perished  by  sea  lying  there  calm  and  quiet,  with 
their  hands  folded  across  their  breasts.  A  great  company 
it  was,  and  a  great  graveyard,  strewn  over  with  sleeping 
shapes,  all  at  rest  and  quiet,  waiting  till  they  hear  the 
trumpet  of  the  archangel  sounding  so  that  even  the  dead 
will  hear  and  live  again.  It  was  a  solemn  sight  to  see? 
doctor.  Somehow  I  came  to  think  it  would  not  be  alto- 
gether a  bad  thing  for  the  poor  young  troubled  creature 
to  go  down  there  among  them  and  be  at  rest.  There  are 
some  people  who  seem  too  tender  and  delicate  for  this 
world.     Yet  if  there  had  come  a  chance   IM  have  laid 


92  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

down  my  life  for  hers,  even  then,  when  I  knew  nothing 
much  about  her." 

"  Tardif,"  I  said,  "  I  did  not  know  what  a  good  fellow 
you  were,  though  I  ought  to  have  learned  it  by  this  time." 

"No,"  he  answered,  "it  is  not  in  me;  it's  something  in 
her.  You  feel  something  of  it  yourself,  doctor,  or  how 
could  you  stay  in  a  poor  little  house  like  this,  thinking  of 
nothing  but  her,  and  not  caring  about  the  weather  keep- 
ing you  away  from  home?  But  let  me  go  on. — In  the 
morning  she  came  on  deck,  and  talked  to  me  about  the 
islands,  and  where  she  could  live  cheaply,  and  it  ended 
in  her  coming  home  here  to  lodge  in  our  little  spare  room. 
There  was  another  curious  thing — she  had  not  any  lug- 
gage with  her,  not  a  box  nor  a  bag  of  any  kind.  She 
never  fancied  that  I  knew,  for  that  would  have  troubled 
her.     It  is  my  belief  that  she  has  run  away." 

"  But  who  can  she  have  run  away  from,  Tardif  ? " 
I  asked. 

"  God  knows,"  he  answered,  "but  the  girl  has  suffered: 
you  can  see  that  by  her  face.  Whoever  or  whatever  she 
has  run  away  from,  her  cheeks  are  white  from  it,  and  her 
heart  sorrowful.  I  know  nothing  of  her  secret:  but  this 
I  do  know:  she  is  as  good,  and  true,  and  sweet  a  little 
soul  as  my  poor  little  wife  was.  She  has  been  here  all  the 
winter,  doctor,  living  under  my  eye,  and  I've  waited  on 
her  as  her  servant,  though  a  rough  servant  I  am  for  one 
like  her.  She  has  tried  to  make  herself  cheerful  and 
contented  with  our  poor  ways.  See,  she  mended  me  that 
bit  of  net ;  those  are  her  meshes,  though  her  pretty  white 
ringers  were  made  sore  by  the  twine.  She  would  mend 
it,  sitting  where  you  are  now  in  the  chimney-corner.  No ; 
if  mam'zelle  should  die,  it  will  be  a  great  grief  of  heart  to 
me.  If  I  could  offer  my  life  to  God  in  place  of  her,  I'd 
do  it  willingly." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


93 


"No,  she  will  not  die.  Look  there,  Tardif  !  "  I  said, 
pointing  to  the  door-sill  of  the  inner  room.  A  white  card 
had  been  slipped  under  the  door  noiselessly — a  signal 
agreed  upon  between  mother  Renouf,  and  me,  to  inform 
me  that  my  patient  had  at  last  fallen  into  a  profound 
slumber,  which  seemed  likely  to  continue  some  hours. 
She  had  slept  perhaps  a  few  minutes  at  a  time  before,  but 
not  a  refreshing,  wholesome  sleep.  Tardif  understood  the 
silent  signal  as  well  as  I  did,  and  a  more  solemn  expres- 
sion settled  on  his  face.  After  a  while  he  put  away  his 
pipe,  and  stepping  barefoot  across  the  floor  without  a 
sound,  he  stopped  the  clock,  and  brought  back  to  the 
table,  where  an  oil-lamp  was  burning,  a  large  old  Bible. 
Throughout  the  long  night,  whenever  I  awoke  (for  I 
threw  myself  on  the  fern  bed  and  slept  fitfully)  I  saw  his 
handsome  face,  with  its  rough,  unkempt  hair  falling  across 
his  forehead  as  it  was  bent  over  the  book,  while  his  mouth 
moved  silently  as  he  read  to  himself  chapter  after  chapter, 
and  turned  softly  the  pages  before  him. 

I  fell  into  a  heavy  slumber  just  before  daybreak,  and 
when  I  awoke  two  or  three  hours  after,  I  found  that  the 
house  had  been  put  in  order,  just  as  usual,  though  no 
sound  had  disturbed  me.  I  glanced  anxiously  at  the 
closed  door.  That  it  was  closed,  and  the  white  card  still 
on  the  sill,  proved  to  me  that  our  charge  had  no  more 
been  disturbed  than  myself.  The  thought  struck  me  that 
the  morning  light  would  shine  full  upon  the  weak  and 
weary  eyelids  of  the  sleeper;  but  upon  going  out  into 
the  fold  to  look  at  her  casement,  I  discovered  that  Tardif 
had  been  before  me  and  covered  it  with  an  old  sail.  The 
room  within  was  sufficiently  darkened. 

The  morning  was  more  than  half  gone  before  mother 
Renouf  opened  the  door  and  came  out  to  us,  her  old  face 
looking  more  haggard  than  ever,  but  her  little  eyes  twin- 


94 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


kling  with  satisfaction.  She  gave  me  a  patronizing  nod, 
but  she  went  up  to  Tardif,  laid  a  hand  on  each  of  his 
broad  shoulders,  and  looked  him  keenly  in  the  face. 

"All  goes  well,  my  friend,"  she  said  significantly. 
"  Your  little  mam'zelle  does  not  think  of  going  to  the 
good  God  yet." 

I  did  not  stay  to  watch  how  Tardif  received  this  news, 
for  I  was  impatient  myself  to  see  how  she  was  going  on. 
Thank  Heaven,  the  fever  was  gone,  the  delirium  at  an 
end.  The  dark  gray  eyes,  opening  languidly  as  my  fin- 
gers touched  her  wrist,  were  calm  and  intelligent.  She 
was  as  weak  as  a  kitten,  but  that  did  not  trouble  me 
much.  I  was  sure  her  natural  health  was  good,  and  she 
would  soon  recover  her  lost  strength.  I  had  to  stoop 
down  to  hear  what  she  was  saying. 

"  Have  I  kept  quite  still,  doctor?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

I  must  own  that  my  eyes  smarted,  and  my  voice  was 
not  to  be  trusted.  I  had  never  felt  so  overjoyed  in  my 
life  as  at  that  moment. 

But  what  a  singular  wish  to  be  obedient  possessed  this 
girl !  What  a  wonderful  power  of  submissive  self-control ! 
If  she  had  cast  aside  authority  and  broken  away  from  it, 
as  she  had  done  apparently,  there  must  have  been  some 
great  provocation  before  a  nature  like  hers  could  venture 
to  assert  its  own  independence. 

I  had  ample  time  for  turning  over  this  reflection,  for 
mother  Renouf  was  worn  out  and  needed  rest,  and  Su- 
zanne Tardif  was  of  little  use  in  the  sick-room.  I  scarcely 
left  my  patient  all  that  day,  for  the  rumor  I  had  set  afloat 
the  day  before  was  sufficient  to  make  it  a  difficult  task  to 
procure  another  nurse.  The  almost  childish  face  grew 
visibly  better  before  my  eyes,  and  when  night  came  I  had 
to  acknowledge  somewhat  reluctantly  that  as  soon  as  a 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  95 

boat  could  leave  the  island  it  would  be  my  bounden  duty 
to  return  to  Guernsey. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Tardif,"  murmured  the  girl  to  me 
that  night,  after  she  had  awakened  from  a  second  long 
and  peaceful  sleep. 

I  called  him  and  he  came  in  barefoot,  his  broad,  burly 
frame  seeming  to  fill  up  all  the  little  room.  She  could 
not  raise  her  head,  but  her  face  was  turned  toward  us,  and 
she  held  out  her  small  wasted  hand  to  him,  smiling  faintly. 
He  fell  on  his  knees  before  he  took  it  into  his  great, 
horny  palm,  and  looked  down  upon  it  as  he  held  it  very 
carefully  with  tears  standing  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  it  is  like  an  egg-shell,"  he  said.  "  God  bless  you 
mam'zelle,  God  bless  you,  for  getting  well  again !  " 

She  laughed  at  his  words — a  feeble  though  merry  laugh, 
like  a  child's — and  she  seemed  delighted  with  the  sight  of 
his  hearty  face,  glowing  as  it  was  with  happiness.  It  was 
a  strange  chance  that  had  thrown  these  two  together.  I 
could  not  allow  Tardif  to  remain  long ;  but  after  that  she 
kept  devising  little  messages  to  send  to  him  through  me 
whenever  I  was  about  to  leave  her.  Her  intercourse  with 
mother  Renouf  was  extremely  limited,  as  the  old  woman's 
knowledge  of  English  was  slight ;  and  with  Suzanne  she 
could  hold  no  conversation  at  all.  It  happened,  in  con- 
sequence, that  I  was  the  only  person  who  could  talk  or 
listen  to  her  through  the  long  and  dreary  hours. 


96  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

WHO    ARE    HER    FRIENDS? 

AT  another  time  I  might  have  recognized  the  danger  of 
my  post;  but  my  patient  had  become  so  childish- 
looking,  and  her  mind,  enfeebled  by  delirium,  was  in  so 
childish  a  condition,  that  it  seemed  to  me  little  more  than 
tending  some  young  girl  whose  age  was  far  below  my  own. 
I  did  not  trouble  myself,  moreover,  with  any  exact  intro- 
spection. There  was  an  under-current  of  satisfaction  and 
happiness  running  through  the  hours  which  I  was  not  in- 
clined to  fathom.  The  winds  continued  against  me,  and 
I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  devote  myself  to  mam'zelle,  as 
I  called  her  in  common  with  the  people  about  me.  She 
was  still  so  far  in  a  precarious  state,  that  if  she  had  been 
living  in  Guernsey  it  would  have  been  my  duty  to  pay  to 
her  unflagging  attention. 

But  on  Friday  afternoon  Tardif,  who  had  been  down  to 
the  Creux  Harbor,  brought  back  information  that  one  of 
the  Sark  cutters  was  about  to  venture  to  make  the  passage 
across  the  channel  the  next  morning,  to  attend  the  Satur- 
day market,  if  the  wind  did  not  rise  again  in  the  night. 
It  was  as  clear  as  day  what  I  must  do.  I  must  bid  fare- 
well to  my  patient,  however  reluctant  I  might  be,  with  a 
very  uncertain  prospect  of  seeing  her  again.  A  patient 
in  Sark  could  not  have  many  visits  from  a  doctor  in 
Guernsey. 

She  was  recovering  with  the  wonderful  elasticity  of  a 
thoroughy  sound  constitution ;    but  I  had  not  considered 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


97 


it  advisable  for  her  even  to  sit  up  yet,  with  her  broken 
arm  and  sprained  ankle.  I  took  my  seat  beside  her  for 
the  last  time,  her  fair,  sweet  face  lying  upon  the  pillow  as 
it  had  done  when  I  first  saw  it,  only  the  look  of  suffering 
was  gone.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  learn  something 
of  the  mystery  that  surrounded  her;  and  the  child,  as  I 
called  her  to  myself,  was  so  submissive  to  me  that  she 
would  answer  my  questions  readily. 

"  Mam'zelle,"  I  said,  "  I  am  going  away  to-night.  You 
will  be  sorry  to  lose  me?  " 

"  Very,  very  sorry,"  she  answered,  in  her  low,  touching 
voice.     "Are  you  obliged  to  go?  " 

If  I  had  not  been  obliged  to  go,  I  should  then  and 
there  have  made  a  solemn  vow  to  remain  with  her  till 
she  was  well  again. 

"  I  must  go,1'  I  said,  shaking  off  the  ridiculous  and  trou- 
blesome idea.  "  I  have  been  away  nearly  six  days.  Six 
days  is  a  long  holiday  for  a  doctor." 

"  It  has  not  been  a  holiday  for  you,"  she  whispered, 
her  eyes  fastened  upon  mine,  and  shining  like  clear  stars. 

"Well,"  I  repeated,  "I  must  go.  Before  I  go  I  wish 
to  write  to  your  friends  for  you.  You  will  not  be  strong- 
enough  to  write  yourself  for  some  days,  and  it  is  quite  time 
they  knew  what  danger  you  have  been  in.  I  have  brought 
a  pen  and  paper,  and  I  will  post  the  letter  as  soon  as  I 
reach  Guernsey." 

A  faint  flush  colored  her  face,  and  she  turned  her  eyes 
away  from  me. 

"Why  do  you  think  I  ought  to  write?"  she  asked  at 
length. 

"Because  you  have  been  very  near  death,"  I  answered. 
"  If  you  had  died,  not  one  of  us  would  have  known  whom 
to  communicate  with,  unless  you  have  left  some  direction 
in  that  box  of  yours,  which  is  not  very  likely." 
7 


98  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

u  No,"  she  said,  "  you  would  find  nothing  there.  I  sup- 
pose if  I  had  died  nobody  would  ever  have  known  who  I 
am.     How  curious  that  would  have  been !  ? 

Was  she  amused,  or  was  she  saddened  by  the  thought  ? 
I  could  not  tell. 

"It  would  have  been  very  painful  to  Tardif  and  to 
me,"  I  said.  "  It  must  be  very  painful  to  your  friends, 
whoever  they  are,  not  to  know  what  has  become  of  you. 
Give  me  permission  to  write  to  them.  There  can  scarcely 
be  reasons  sufficient  for  you  to  separate  yourself  from 
them  like  this.  Besides,  you  cannot  go  on  living  in  a 
fisherman's  cottage;  you  were  not  born  to  it " 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  she  asked  quickly,  with  a  sharp 
tone  in  her  voice. 

It  was  somewhat  difficult  to  answer  that  question. 
There  was  nothing  to  indicate  what  position  she  had  been 
used  to.  I  had  seen  no  token  of  wealth  about  her  room, 
which  was  as  homely  as  any  other  cottage  chamber.  Her 
conversation  had  been  the  simple,  childish  talk  of  an  in- 
valid recovering  from  a  serious  illness,  and  had  scarcely 
proved  her  to  be  an  educated  person.  Yet  there  was  some- 
thing in  her  face,  and  tones,  and  manner  which,  as  plainly 
to  Tardif  as  to  me,  stamped  this  runaway  girl  as  a  lady. 

"  Let  me  write  to  your  friends,"  I  urged,  waiving  the 
question.  "  It  is  not  fit  for  you  to  remain  here.  I  beg 
of  you  to  allow  me  to  communicate  with  them." 

Her  face  quivered  like  a  child's  when  it  is  partly  fright- 
ened and  partly  grieved. 

"I  have  no  friends,"  she  said;  "not  one  real  friend  in 
the  world." 

An  almost  irresistible  inclination  assailed  me  to  fall  on 
my  knees  beside  her,  as  I  had  seen  Tardif  do,  and  take  a 
solemn  oath  to  be  her  faithful  servant  and  friend  as  long 
as  my  life  should  last.     This,  of  course,  I  did  not  do ;  but 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


99 


the  sound  of  the  words  so  plaintively  spoken,  and  the 
sight  of  her  quivering  face,  rendered  her  a  hundredfold 
more  interesting  to  me. 

"  Mam'zelle,"  I  said,  taking  her  hand  in  mine,  "  if  ever 
you  should  need  a  friend  you  may  count  upon  Martin 
Dobree  as  one,  true  as  any  you  could  wish  to  have.  Tardif 
is  another.     Never  say  again  you  have  no  friends." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered  simply.  "  I  will  count  you 
and  Tardif  as  my  friends.  But  I  have  no  others,  so  you 
need  not  write  to  anybody." 

"But  what  if  you  had  died?  "  I  persisted. 

"You  would  have  buried  me  quietly  up  there,"  she 
answered,  "in  the  pleasant  graveyard,  where  the  birds 
sing  all  day  long,  and  I  should  have  been  forgotten  soon. 
Am  I  likely  to  die,  Doctor  Martin?" 

"Certainly  not,"  I  replied  hastily;  "nothing  of  the 
kind.  You  are  going  to  get  well  and  strong  again.  But 
I  must  bid  you  good-by  now,  since  you  have  no  friends 
to  write  to.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  in  Guernsey?  I 
can  send  you  anything  you  fancy." 

"  I  do  not  want  anything,"  she  said. 

"You  want  a  great  number  of  things,"  I  said;  "medi- 
cines of  course — what  is  the  good  of  a  doctor  who  sends 
no  medicine? — and  books.  You  will  have  to  keep  your- 
self quiet  a  long  time.     You  would  like  some  books?  " 

"Oh,  I  have  longed  for  books,"  she  said,  sighing; 
"but  don't  buy  any;  lend  me  some  of  your  own." 

"  Mine  would  be  very  unsuitable  for  a  young  lady,"  I 
answered,  laughing  at  the  thought  of  my  private  library. 
"  May  I  ask  why  I  am  not  to  buy  any?  " 

"  Because  I  have  no  money  to  spend  in  books,"  she  said. 

"  Well,"  I  replied,  "  I  will  borrow  some  for  you  from 
the  ladies  I  know.  We  will  not  waste  our  money,  neither 
you  nor  I." 


ioo       •  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  stood  looking  at  her,  finding  it  harder  to  go  away  than 
I  had  supposed.  So  closely  had  I  watched  the  changes 
upon  her  face  that  every  line  of  it  was  deeply  engraved 
upon  my  memory.  Other  and  more  familiar  faces  seemd 
to  have  faded  in  proportion  to  that  distinctness  of  im- 
pression. Julia's  features,  for  instance,  had  become 
blurred  and  obscure,  like  a  painting  which  has  lost  its 
original  clearness  of  tone. 

"How  soon  will  you  come  back  again?"  asked  the 
faint,  plaintive  voice. 

Clearly  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  I  could  not  pay  her 
a  visit  without  great  difficulty.  I  knew  how  it  was  next 
to  an  impossibility  to  get  over  to  Sark,  for  some  time  at 
least;  but  I  felt  ready  to  combat  even  impossibilities. 

"  I  will  come  back,"  I  said — "  yes,  I  promise  to  come 
back  in  a  week's  time.  Make  haste  and  get  well  before 
then,  mam'zelle.     Good-by  now;  good-by." 

I  was  going  to  sleep  at  Vaudin's  Inn,  near  to  Creux 
Harbor,  from  which  the  cutter  would  sail  almost  before 
the  dawn.  At  five  o'clock  we  started  on  our  passage — a 
boatload  of  fishermen  bound  for  the  market.  The  cold 
was  sharp,  for  it  was  still  early  in  March,  and  the  easterly 
wind  pierced  the  skin  like  a  myriad  of  fine  needles.  A 
waning  moon  was  hanging  in  the  sky  over  Guernsey,  and 
the  east  was  growing  gray  with  the  coming  morning.  By 
the  time  the  sun  was  fairly  up  out  of  its  bed  of  low-lying 
clouds,  we  had  rounded  the  southern  point  of  Sark,  and 
were  in  sight  of  the  Havre  Gosselin.  But  Tardif's 
cottage  was  screened  by  the  cliffs,  and  I  could  catch  no 
glimpse  of  it,  though  as  we  rowed  onward  I  saw  a  fine, 
thin  column  of  white  smoke  blown  toward  us.  It  was 
from  his  hearth,  I  knew,  and  at  this  moment  he  was  pre- 
paring an  early  breakfast  for  my  invalid.  I  wa,tched  it  till 
all  the  coast  became  an  indistinct  outline  against  the  sky. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  iqi 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    SIXTIES    OF    GUERNSEY. 

1WAS  more  than  half-numb  with  cold  by  the  time  we 
landed  at  the  quay,  opposite  the  Sark  office.  The 
place  was  all  alive,  seeming  the  more  busy  and  animated 
to  me  for  the  solitary  six  days  I  had  been  spending  since 
last  Sunday.  The  arrival  of  our  boat,  and  especially  my 
appearance  in  it,  created  quite  a  stir  among  the  loungers 
who  are  always  hanging  about  the  pier.  By  this  time 
every  individual  in  St.  Peter-port  knew  that  Dr.  Martin 
Dobree  had  been  missing  for  several  days,  having  gone 
out  in  a  fisherman's  boat  to  Sark  the  Sunday  previous.  I 
had  seen  myself  in  the  glass  before  leaving  my  chamber 
at  Vaudin's,  and  to  some  extent  I  presented  the  haggard 
appearance  of  a  shipwrecked  man.  A  score  of  voices 
greeted  me ;  some  welcoming,  some  chaffing.  "  Glad  to 
see  you  again,  old  fellow!"  "What  news  'from  Sark?  " 
"Been  in  quod  for  a  week?"  "His  hair  is  not  cut 
short!"  "No;  he  has  tarried  in  Sark  till  his  beard  be 
grown!  "  There  was  a  circling  laugh  at  this  last  jest  at 
my  appearance,  which  had  been  uttered  by  a  good-tem- 
pered, jovial  clergyman,  who  was  passing  by  on  his  way  to 
the  town  church.  I  did  my  best  to  laugh  and  banter  in 
return,  but  it  was  like  the  dancing  of  a  bear  with  a  sore 
head.  I  felt  gloomy  and  uncomfortable.  A  change  had 
come  over  me  since  I  left  home,  for  my  return  was  by  no 
means  an  unmixed  pleasure. 

As  I  was  proceeding    along  the  quay,  with  a  train  of 


102  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

sympathizing  attendants,  a  man,  who  was  driving  a  large 
cart  piled  with  packages  in  cases,  as  if  they  had  come  in 
from  England  by  the  steamer,  touched  his  hat  to  me,  and 
stopped  the  horse.  It  was  in  order  to  inform  me  that  he 
was  conveying  furniture  which  we — that  is,  Julia  and  I — 
had  ordered,  up  to  our  new  house,  the  windows  of  which 
I  could  see  glistening  in  the  morning  sun.  My  spirits  did 
not  rise,  even  at  this  cheerful  information.  I  looked 
coldly  at  the  cases,  bade  the  man  go  on,  and  shook  off 
my  train  by  taking  an  abrupt  turn  up  a  flight  of  steps 
leading  directly  into  the  Haute  Rue. 

I  had  chosen  instinctively  the  nearest  by-way  homeward, 
but  once  in  the  Haute  Rue,  I  did  not  pursue  it.  I  turned 
again  upon  a  sudden  thought  toward  the  Market  Square, 
to  see  if  I  could  pick  up  any  dainties  there  to  tempt  the 
delicate  appetite  of  my  Sark  patient.  Every  step  I  took 
brought  me  into  contact  with  some  friend  or  acquaintance, 
whom  I  would  have  avoided  gladly.  The  market  was  sure 
to  be  full  of  them,  for  the  ladies  of  Guernsey,  like  French- 
women, would  be  there  in  shoals,  with  their  maid-servants 
behind  them  to  carry  their  purchases.  Yet  I  turned  to- 
ward it,  as  I  said,  braving  both  congratulations  and  curi- 
osity, to  see  what  I  could  buy  for  Tardif's  "  mam'zelle." 

The  square  had  all  the  peculiar  animation  of  an  early 
market  where  ladies  do  their  own  bargaining.  As  I 
had  known  beforehand,  most  of  my  acquaintances  were 
there ;  for  in  Guernsey  the  feminine  element  predominates 
terribly,  and  most  of  my  acquaintances  were  ladies.  The 
peasant  women  behind  the  stalls  also  knew  me.  Most  of 
the  former  nodded  to  me  as  I  strolled  slowly  through  the 
crowd,  but  they  were  much  too  busy  to  suspend  their  pur- 
chases in  order  to  catechise  me  just  then,  being  sure  of 
me  at  a  future  time.  I  had  not  done  badly  in  choosing 
the  busiest  street  for  my  way  home. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


103 


But  as  I  left  the  Market  Square  I  came  suddenly  upon 
Julia,  face  to  face.  It  had  all  the  effect  of  a  shock  upon 
me.  Like  many  other  women,  she  seldom  looked  well 
out  of  doors.  The  prevailing  fashion  never  suited  her. 
However  the  bonnets  were  worn,  whether  hanging  down 
the  neck  or  slouched  over  the  forehead,  rising  spoon- 
shaped  toward  the  sky  or  lying  like  a  flat  plate  on  the 
crown,  Julia's  bonnet  always  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
made  for  somebody  else.  She  was  fond  of  wearing  a 
shawl,  which  hung  ungracefully  about  her,  and  made  her 
figure  look  squarer  and  her  shoulders  higher  than  they 
really  were.  Her  face  struck  sharply  upon  my  brain,  as 
if  I  had  never  seen  it  distinctly  before ;  not  a  bad  face, 
but  unmistakably  plain,  and  just  now  with  a  frown  upon 
it,  and  her  heavy  eyebrows  knitted  forbiddingly.  A  pretty 
little  basket  was  in  her  hand,  and  her  mind  was  full  of  the 
bargains  she  was  bent  upon.  She  was  even  more  sur- 
prised and  startled  by  our  encounter  than  I  was,  and  her 
manner,  when  taken  by  surprise,  was  apt  to  be  abrupt. 

"Why,  Martin!  "  she  ejaculated. 

"Well,  Julia!"  I  said. 

We  stood  looking  at  one  another  much  in  the  same  way  as 
we  used  to  do  years  before,  when  she  had  detected  me  in 
some  boyish  prank,  and  assumed  the  mentor  while  I  felt 
a  culprit.  How  really  I  felt  a  culprit  at  that  moment  she 
could  not  guess. 

"I  told  you  just  how  it  would  be,"  she  said,  in  her 
mentor  voice.  "  I  knew  there  was  a  storm  coming,  and 
I  begged  and  entreated  of  you  not  to  go.  Your  mother 
has  been  ill  all  the  week,  and  your  father  has  been  as 
cross  as — as " 

"  As  two  sticks,"  I  suggested,  precisely  as  I  might  have 
done  when  I  was  thirteen. 

"  It  is  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  said  Julia  severely.     "  I 


104  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

shall  say  nothing  about  myself  and  my  own  feelings,  though 
they  have  been  most  acute,  the  wind  blowing  a  hurricane 
for  twenty-four  hours  together,  and  we  not  sure  that  you 
had  reached  Sark  in  safety.  Your  mother  and  I  wanted 
to  charter  the  Rescue,  and  send  over  to  fetch  you  home 
as  soon  as  the  worst  of  the  storm  was  over,  but  my  uncle 
pooh-poohed  it." 

"  I  am  very  glad  he  did,"  I  replied  involuntarily. 

"  He  said  you  would  be  more  than  ready  to  come  back 
in  the  first  cutter  that  sailed,"  she  went  on.  "  I  suppose 
you  have  just  come  in?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  I  am  half-numbed  with  cold,  and 
nearly  famished  with  hunger.  You  don't  give  me  as 
good  a  welcome  as  the  Prodigal  Son  got,  Julia." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  softening  a  little ;  "  but  I'm  not 
sorry  to  see  you  safe  again.  I  would  turn  back  with  you, 
but  I  like  to  do  the  marketing  myself,  for  the  servants 
will  buy  anything.  Martin,  a  whole  cart-load  of  our  fur- 
niture is  come  in.  You  will  find  the  invoice  inside  my 
davenport.  We  must  go  down  this  afternoon  and  su- 
perintend the  unpacking." 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  "but  I  cannot  stay  longer  now." 

I  did  not  go  on  with  any  lighter  heart  than  before  this 
meeting  with  Julia.  I  had  scrutinized  her  face,  voice, 
and  manner  with  unwonted  criticism.  As  a  rule,  a  face 
that  has  been  before  us  all  our  days  is  as  seldom  an  ob- 
ject of  criticism  as  any  family  portrait  which  has  hung 
against  the  same  place  on  the  wall  all  our  lifetime.  The 
latter  fills  up  a  space  which  would  otherwise  be  blank ; 
the  former  does  very  little  else.  It  never  strikes  you; 
it  is  almost  invisible  to  you.  There  would  be  a  blank 
space  left  if  it  disappeared,  and  you  could  not  fill  it  up 
from  memory.  A  phantom  has  been  living,  breathing, 
moving  beside  you,  with  vanishing  features  and  no  very 
real  presence. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


i°5 


I  had,  therefore,  for  the  first  time  criticised  my  future 
wife.  It  was  a  good,  honest,  plain,  sensible  face,  with 
some  fine  insidious  lines  about  the  corners  of  the  eyes 
and  lips,  and  across  the  forehead.  They  could  hardly  be 
called  wrinkles  yet,  but  they  were  the  first  faint  sketch  of 
them,  and  it  is  impossible  to  obliterate  the  lightest  touch 
etched  by  Time.  She  was  five  years  older  than  I — thirty- 
three  last  birthday.  There  was  no  more  chance  for  our 
Guernsey  girls  to  conceal  their  age  than  for  the  unhappy 
daughters  of  peers,  whose  dates  are  faithfully  kept,  and 
recorded  in  the  Peerage.  The  upper  classes  of  the 
island,  who  were  linked  together  by  endless  and  intricate 
ramifications  of  relat'onship,  formed  a  kind  of  large 
family,  with  some  of  its  advantages  and  many  of  its 
drawbacks.  In  one  sense  we  had  many  things  in  common ; 
our  family  histories  were  public  property,  as  also  our 
private  characters  and  circumstances.  For  instance,  my 
own  engagement  to  Julia,  and  our  approaching  marriage, 
gave  almost  as  much  interest  to  the  island  as  though  we 
were  members  of  each  household. 

I  have  looked  out  a  passage  in  the  standard  work  upon 
the  Channel  Islands.  They  are  the  words  of  an  English- 
man who  was  studying  us  more  philosophically  than 
we  imagined.  Unknown  to  ourselves  we  had  been  under 
his  microscope.  "  At  a  period  not  very  distant,  society 
in  Guernsey  grouped  itself  into  two  divisions — one,  in- 
cluding those  families  who*  prided  themselves  on  ancient 
descent  and  landed  estates,  and  who  regarded  themselves, 
as  the  pur  sang ;  and  the  other,  those  whose  fortunes  had 
chiefly  been  made  during  the  late  war  or  in  trade.  The 
former  were  called  Sixties,  the  latter  were  the  Forties" 

Now  Julia  and  I  belonged  emphatically  to  the  Sixties. 
We  had  never  been  debased  by  trade,  and  a  mesalliance 
was  not  known  in  our  family.     To  be  sure,  my  father  had 


106  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

lost  a  fortune  instead  of  making  one  in  anyway;  but  that 
did  not  alter  his  position  or  mine.  We  belonged  to  the 
aristocracy  of  Guernsey,  and  noblesse  oblige.  As  for  my 
marriage  with  Julia,  it  was  so  much  the  more  interesting 
as  the  number  of  marriageable  men  was  extremely  limited ; 
and  she  was  considered  favored  indeed  by  fate,  which 
had  provided  for  her  a  cousin  willing  to  settle  down  for 
life  in  the  island. 

Still  more  greetings,  more  inquiries,  more  jokes,  as  I 
wended  my  way  homeward.  I  had  become  very  weary 
of  them  before  I  turned  into  our  own  drive.  My  father 
was  just  starting  off  on  horseback.  He  looked  exceed- 
ingly well  on  horseback,  being  a  very  handsome  man,  and 
in  excellent  preservation.  His  hair,  as  white  as  snow, 
was  thick  and  well  curled,  and  his  face  almost  without  a 
wrinkle.  He  had  married  young,  and  was  not  more  than 
twenty  five  years  older  than  myself.  He  stopped  and 
extended  two  fingers  to  me. 

"  So  you  are  back,  Martin,"  he  said.  "  It  has  been  a 
confounded  nuisance,  you  being  out  of  the  way;  and  such 
weather  for  a  man  of  my  years!  I  had  to  ride  out  three 
miles  to  lance  a  baby's  gums,  confound  it!  in  all  that 
storm  on  Tuesday.  Mrs.  Durande  has  been  very  ill  too ; 
all  your  patients  have  been  troublesome.  But  it  must 
have  been  awfully  dull  work  for  you  out  yonder.  What 
did  you  do  with  yourself,  eh?  Make  love  to  some  of  the 
pretty  Sark  girls  behind  Julia's  back,  eh?  " 

My  father  kept  himself  young,  as  he  was  very  fond  of 
stating;  his  style  of  conversation  was  eminently  so.  It 
jarred  upon  my  ears  more  than  ever  after  Tardif's  grave 
and  solemn  words,  and  often  deep  thoughts.  I  was  on 
the  point  of  answering  sharply,  but  I  checked  myself. 

"  The  weather  has  been  awful,"  I  said.  "  How  did  my 
mother  bear  it?  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  107 

"She  has  been  like  an  old  hen  clucking  after  her 
duckling  in  the  water,"  he  replied.  "  She  has  been  fret- 
ting and  fuming  after  you  all  the  week.  If  it  had  been  me 
out  in  Sark,  she  would  have  slept  soundly  and  ate 
heartily;  as  it  was  you,  she  has  neither  slept  nor  ate. 
You  are  quite  an  old  woman's  pet,  Martin.  As  for  me, 
there  is  no  love  lost  between  old  women  and  me." 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  I  said,  turning  away,  and  hurry- 
ing on  to  the  house.  I  heard  him  laugh  lightly,  and 
hum  an  opera  air  as  he  rode  off,  sitting  his  horse  with 
the  easy  seat  of  a  thorough  horseman.  He  would  never 
set  up  a  carriage  as  long  as  he  could  ride  like  that.  I 
watched  him  out  of  sight,  and  then  went  in  to  seek  my 
poor  mother. 


108  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    CLUE    TO    THE    SECRET. 

SHE  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  breakfast-room,  with 
the  Venetian  blinds  down  to  darken  the  morning 
sunshine.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  though  she  held  in  her 
hands  the  prayer-book,  from  which  she  had  been  reading 
as  usual  the  Psalms  for  the  day.  I  had  time  to  take  note 
of  the  extreme  fragility  of  her  appearance,  which  doubt- 
less I  noticed  the  more  plainly  for  my  short  absence.  Her 
hands  were  very  thin,  and  her  cheeks  hollow.  A  few  sil- 
ver threads  were  growing  among  her  brown  hair,  and  a 
line  or  two  between  her  eyebrows  were  becoming  deeper. 
But  while  I  was  looking  at  her,  though  I  made  no  sort  of 
sound  or  movement,  she  seemed  to  feel  that  I  was  there ; 
and  after  looking  up  she  started  from  her  sofa,  and  flung 
her  arms  about  me,  pressing  closer  and  closer. 

"  O  Martin,  my  boy!  my  darling!  "  she  sobbed,  "  thank 
God  you  are  come  back  safe !  Oh,  I  have  been  very  re- 
bellious, very  unbelieving.  I  ought  to  have  known  that 
you  would  be  safe.     Oh,  I  am  thankful!  " 

"So  am  I,  mother,"  I  said,  kissing  her,  "and  very  hun- 
gry into  the  bargain." 

I  knew  that  would  check  her  hysterical  excitement.  She 
looked  up  at  me  with  smiles  and  tears  on  her  face ;  but 
the  smiles  won  the  day. 

"  That  is  so  like  you,  Martin,"  she  said ;  "  I  believe  your 
ghost  would  say  those  very  words.  You  are  always  hun- 
gry when  you  come  home.     Well,  my  boy  shall  have  the 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


109 


best  breakfast  in  Guernsey.  Sit  down,  then,  and  let  me 
wait  upon  you." 

That  was  just  what  pleased  her  most  whenever  I  came 
in  from  some  ride  into  the  country.  She  was  a  woman 
with  fondling,  caressing  little  ways,  such  as  Julia  could 
no  more  perform  gracefully  than  an  elephant  could  waltz. 
My  mother  enjoyed  fetching  my  slippers,  and  warming 
them  herself  by  the  fire,  and  carrying  away  my  boots  when 
I  took  them  off.  No  servant  was  permitted  to  do  any  of 
these  little  offices  forme — that  is,  when  my  father  was  out 
of  the  way.  If  he  was  there  my  mother  sat  still,  and  left 
me  to  wait  on  myself,  or  ring  for  a  servant.  Never  in 
my  recollection  had  she  done  anything  of  the  kind  for  my 
father.  Had  she  watched  and  waited  upon  him  thus  in 
the  early  days  of  their  married  life,  until  some  neglect  or 
unfaithfulness  of  his  had  cooled  her  love  for  him?  I  sat 
down  as  she  bade  me,  and  had  my  slippers  brought,  and 
felt  her  fingers  passed  fondly  through  my  hair. 

"  You  have  come  back  like  a  barbarian,"  she  said, 
"rougher  than  Tardif  himself.  How  have  you  managed, 
my  boy?  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it  as  soon  as  your 
hunger  is  satisfied." 

"As  soon  as  I  have  had  my  breakfast,  mother,  I  must 
put  up  a  few  things  in  a  hamper  to  go  back  by  the  Sark 
cutter,"  I  answered. 

"What  sort  of  things?"  she  asked.  "Tell  me,  and  I 
will  be  getting  them  ready  for  you." 

"Well,  there  will  be  some  physic,  of  course,"  I  said; 
"you  cannot  help  me  in  that.  But  you  can  find  things 
suitable  for  a  delicate  appetite;  jelly,  you  know,  and 
jams  and  marmalade ;  anything  nice  that  comes  to  hand. 
And  some  good  port  wine,  and  a  few  amusing  books." 

"Books!  "  echoed  my  mother. 

I  recollected  at  once  that  the  books  she  might  select, 


no  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

as  being  suited  to  a  Sark  peasant,  would  hardly  prove  in- 
teresting to  my  patient.  I  could  not  do  better  than  go 
down  to  Barbet's  circulating  library  and  look  out  some 
good  works  there. 

"  Well,  no,"  I  said ;  "  never  mind  the  books.  If  you 
will  look  out  the  other  things,  those  can  wait." 

"  Who  are  they  for?  "  asked  my  mother. 

"  For  my  patient,"  I  replied,  devoting  myself  to  the 
breakfast  before  me. 

"What  sort  of  a  patient,  Martin?"  she  inquired  again. 

"  Her  name  is  Ollivier,"  I  said.  "A  common  name. 
Our  postman's  name  is  Ollivier." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered;  "I  know  several  families  of 
Olliviers.  I  dare  say  I  should  know  this  person  if  you 
could  tell  me  her  Christian  name.  Is  it  Jane,  or  Martha, 
or  Rachael?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said;  "I  did  not  ask." 

Should  I  tell  my  mother  about  my  mysterious  patient? 
I  hesitated  for  a  minute  or  two.  But  to  what  good?  It 
was  not  my  habit  to  talk  about  my  patients  and  their  ail- 
ments. I  left  them  all  behind  me  when  I  crossed  the 
threshold  of  home.  My  mother's  brief  curiosity  had  been 
satisfied  with  the  name  of  Ollivier,  and  she  made  no  fur- 
ther inquiries  about  her.  But  to  expedite  me  in  my  pur- 
pose, she  rang,  and  gave  orders  for  old  Pellet,  our  only 
man-servant,  to  find  a  strong  hamper,  and  told  the  cook 
to  look  out  some  jars  of  preserve. 

The  packing  of  that  hamper  interested  me  wonderfully; 
and  my  mother,  rather  amazed  at  my  taking  the  superin- 
tendence of  it  in  person,  stood  by  me  in  her  store  closet, 
letting  me  help  myself  liberally.  There  was  a  good  space 
left  after  I  had  taken  sufficient  to  supply  Miss  Ollivier 
with  good  things  for  some  weeks  to  come.  If  my  mother 
had  not  been  by  I  should  have  filled  it  up  with  books. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  tlI 

"Give  me  a  loaf  or  two  of  white  bread,"  I  said;  "the 
bread  at  Tardif's  is  coarse  and  hard,  as  I  know  after  eat- 
ing it  for  a  week.     A  loaf,  if  you  please,  dear  mother." 

"Whatever  are  you  doing  here,  Martin?"  exclaimed 
Julia's  unwelcome  voice  behind  me.  Her  bilious  attack 
had  not  quite  passed  away,  and  her  tones  were  somewhat 
sharp  and  raspy. 

"He  has  been  living  on  Tardif's  coarse  fare  for  a  week," 
answered  my  mother;  "so  now  he  has  compassion  enough 
for  his  Sark  patient  to  pack  up  some  dainties  for  her.  If 
you  could  only  give  him  one  or  two  of  your  bad  headaches 
he  would  have  more  sympathy  for  you." 

"Have  you  had  one  of  your  headaches,  Julia?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  The  worst  I  ever  had,"  she  answered.  "  It  was  partly 
your  going  off  in  that  rash  way,  and  the  storm  that  came 
on  after,  and  the  fright  we  were  in.  You  must  not  think 
of  going  again,  Martin.  I  shall  take  care  you  don't  go 
after  we  are  married." 

Julia  had  been  used  to  speak  out  as  calmly  about  our 
marriage  as  if  it  was  no  more  than  going  to  a  pic-nic.  It 
grated  upon  me  just  then;  though  it  had  been  much  the 
same  with  myself.  There  was  no  delightful  agitation  about 
the  future  that  lay  before  us.  We  were  going  to  set  up 
housekeeping  by  ourselves,  and  that  was  all.  There  was 
no  mystery  in  it;  no  problem  to  be  solved;  no  discovery 
to  be  made  on  either  side.  There  would  be  no  Blue 
Beard's  chamber  in  our  dwelling.  We  had  grown  up  to- 
gether; now  we  had  agreed  to  grow  old  together.  That 
was  the  sum  total  of  marriage  to  Julia  and  me. 

I  finished  packing  the  hamper,  and  sent  Pellet  with  it 
to  the  Sark  office,  having  addressed  it  to  Tardif,  who  had 
engaged  to  be  down  at  the  Creux  Harbor  to  receive  it 
when  the  cutter  returned.     Then   I   made   a  short  and 


H2  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

hurried  toilet,  which  by  this  time  had  become  essential  to 
my  re-appearance  in  civilized  society.  But  I  was  in  haste 
to  secure  a  parcel  of  books  before  the  cutter  should  start 
home  again,  with  its  courageous  little  knot  of  market 
people.  I  ran  down  to  Barbet's,  scarcely  heeding  the 
greetings  which  were  flung  after  me  by  every  passer-by. 
I  looked  through  the  library  shelves  with  growing  dissatis- 
faction, until  I  hit  upon  two  of  Mrs.  Gaskell's  novels, 
"Pride  and  Prejudice,"  by  Jane  Austen,  and  "David 
Copperneld."  Besides  these,  I  chose  a  book  for  Sunday 
reading,  as  my  observations  upon  my  mother  and  Julia 
had  taught  me  that  my  patient  could  not  read  a  novel  on 
a  Sunday  with  a  quiet  conscience. 

Barbet  brought  half  a  sheet  of  an  old  Times  to  form  the 
first  cover  of  my  parcel.  The  shop  was  crowded  with 
market  people,  and  as  he  was  busy  I  undertook  to  pack 
them  myself,  the  more  willingly  as  I  had  no  wish  for  him 
to  know  what  direction  I  wrote  upon  them.  I  was  about 
to  fold  the  newspaper  round  them,  when  my  eye  was 
caught  by  an  advertisement  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  col- 
umns, the  first  line  of  which  was  printed  in  capitals.  I 
recollected  in  an  instant  that  I  had  seen  it  and  read  it 
before.  This  was  what  I  had  tried  in  vain  to  recall  while 
Tardif  was  describing  Miss  Ollivier  to  me.  "  Strayed  from 
her  home  in  London,  on  the  20th  inst,  a  young  lady  with 
bright  brown  hair,  gray  eyes,  and  delicate  features ;  age 
twenty-one.  She  is  believed  to  have  been  alone.  Was 
dressed  in  a  blue  silk  dress,  and  seal-skin  jacket  and  hat. 
Fifty  pounds  reward  is  offered  to  any  person  giving  such 
information  as  will  lead  to  her  restoration  to  her  parents. 
Apply  to  Messrs.  Scott  and  Brow,  Gray's  Inn  Road,  E.C." 

I  stood  perfectly  still  for  some  seconds,  staring  blankly 
at  the  very  simple  advertisement  under  my  eyes.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  my  mind  that  it  had  a  direct 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


Ir3 


reference  to  my  pretty  patient  in  Sark.  I  had  a  reason 
for  recollecting  the  date  of  Tardif's  return  from  London. 
It  was  just  after  the  mournful  disaster  off  the  Havre  Gosse- 
lin,  when  four  gentlemen  and  a  boatman  had  been  lost 
during  a  squall.  But  I  had  no  time  for  deliberation  then, 
and  I  tore  oft  a  large  corner  of  the  Times  containing  that 
and  other  advertisements,  and  thrust  it  unseen  into  my 
pocket.  After  that  I  went  on  with  my  work,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  turning  out  a  creditable-looking  parcel,  which  I 
carried  down  myself  to  the  Sark  cutter. 

Before  I  returned  home  I  made  two  or  three  half-pro- 
fessional calls  upon  patients  whom  my  father  had  visited 
during  my  absence.  Everywhere  I  had  to  submit  to  nu- 
merous questions  as  to  my  adventures  and  pursuits  during 
my  week's  exile.  At  each  place  curiosity  seemed  to  be 
quite  satisfied  with  the  information  that  the  young  woman 
who  had  been  hurt  by  a  fall  from  the  cliffs  was  an  Ollivier. 
With  that  freedom  and  familiarity  which  exists  among  us, 
I  was  rallied  for  my  evident  absence  and  preoccupation 
of  mind,  which  were  pleasantly  ascribed  to  the  well-known 
fact  that  a  large  quantity  of  furniture  for  our  new  house 
had  arrived  from  England  while  I  was  away.  These 
friends  of  mine  could  tell  me  the  colors  of  the  curtains, 
and  the  patterns  of  the  carpets,  and  the  style  of  my  chairs 
and  tables ;  so  engrossingly  interesting  to  all  our  circle 
was  our  approaching  marriage. 

In  the  mean  time  I  had  no  leisure  to  study  and  ponder 
over  the  advertisement,  which  by  so  odd  a  chance  had 
come  into  my  hands.  That  must  be  reserved  till  I  was 
alone  at  night. 


II4  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XL 

julia's  wedding-dress. 

YET  I  found  my  attention  wandering,  and  my  wits 
wool-gathering,  even  in  the  afternoon,  when  I  had 
gone  down  with  Julia  and  my  mother  to  the  new  house, 
to  see  after  the  unpacking  of  that  load  of  furniture.  I 
can  imagine  circumstances  in  which  nothing  could  be 
more  delightful  than  the  care  with  which  a  man  prepares 
a  home  for  his  future  wife.  The  very  tint  of  the  walls, 
and  the  way  the  light  falls  in  through  the  windows,  would 
become  matters  of  grave  importance.  In  what  pleasant 
spot  shall  her  favorite  chair  be  placed?  And  what  picture 
shall  hang  opposite  it  to  catch  her  eye  the  oftenest? 
Where  is  her  piano  to  stand?  What  china,  and  glass,  and 
silver  is  she  to  use?  Where  are  the  softest  carpets  to  be 
found  for  her  feet  to  tread?  In  short,  where  is  the  very 
best  and  daintiest  of  everything  to  be  had,  for  the  best 
and  daintiest  little  bride  the  sun  ever  shone  on? 

There  was  not  the  slightest  flavor  of  this  sentiment  in 
our  furnishing  of  the  new  house.  It  was  really  more 
Julia's  business  than  mine.  We  had  had  dozens  of  fur- 
nishing lists  to  peruse  from  the  principal  houses  in  Lon- 
don and  Paris,  as  if  even  there  it  was  a  well-understood 
thing  that  Julia  and  I  were  going  to  be  married.  We  had 
toiled  through  these  catalogues,  making  pencil-marks  in 
them,  as  though  they  were  catalogues  of  an  Art  Exhibition. 
We  had  prudently  settled  the  precise  sum  (of  Julia's 
money)  which  we  were  to  lay  out.     Julia's  taste  did  not 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"5 


often  agree  with  mine,  as  she  had  no  eye  for  the  harmo- 
nies of  color — a  singular  deficiency  among  us,  as  most  of 
the  Guernsey  women  are  born  artists.  We  were  con- 
stantly compelled  to  come  to  a  compromise,  each  yielding 
some  point;  not  without  a  secret  misgiving  on  my  part 
that  the  new  house  would  have  many  an  eyesore  about  it 
for  me.  But  then  it  was  Julia's  money  that  was  doing  it, 
and  after  all  she  was  more  anxious  to  please  me  than  I 
deserved. 

That  afternoon  Pellet  and  I,  like  two  assistants  in  a 
furnishing  house,  unrolled  carpets  and  stretched  them 
along  the  floors  before  the  critical  gaze  of  my  mother  and 
Julia.  We  unpacked  chairs  and  tables,  scanning  anxiously 
for  damages  on  the  polished  wood,  and  setting  them  one 
after  another  in  a  row  against  the  walls. 

I  went  about  the  place  as  if  in  some  dream.  The  house 
commanded  a  splendid  view  of  the  whole  group  of  the 
Channel  Islands,  and  the  rocky  islets  innumerable  strewn 
about  the  sea.  The  afternoon  sun  was  shining  full  upon 
Sark,  and  whenever  I  looked  through  the  window  I  could 
see  the  cliffs  of  the  Havre  Gosselin,  purple  in  the  dis- 
tance, with  a  silver  thread  of  foam  at  their  foot.  No  won- 
der that  my  thoughts  wandered,  and  the  words  my  mother 
and  Julia  were  speaking  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the 
other.  Certainly,  I  was  dreaming;  but  which  part  was 
the  dream? 

"  I  don't  believe  he  cares  a  straw  about  the  carpets !  " 
exclaimed  Julia,  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  I  do  indeed,  dear  Julia,"  I  said,  bringing  myself  back 
to  the  carpets.  Here  I  had  been  obliged  to  give  in  to 
Julia's  taste.  She  had  set  her  mind  upon  having  flowers 
in  her  drawing-room  carpet,  and  there  they  were,  large 
garlands  of  bright- colored  blossoms,  very  gay  and,  as  I 
ventured  to  remark  to  myself,  very  gaudy. 


n6 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"You  like  it  better  than  you  did  in  the  pattern?"  she 
asked  anxiously. 

I  did  not  like  it  one  whit  better,  but  I  should  have  been 
a  brute  if  I  had  said  so.  She  was  gazing  at  it  and  me 
with  so  troubled  an  expression,  that  I  felt  it  necessary  to 
set  her  mind  at  ease. 

"It  is  certainly  handsomer  than  in  the  pattern,1'  I  said, 
regarding  it  attentively;   "very  much  handsomer." 

"  You  like  it  better  than  the  plain  thing  you  chose  at 
first?"  pursued  Julia. 

I  was  about  to  be  hunted  into  a  corner,  and  forced  into 
denying  my  own  taste — a  process  almost  more  painful 
than  denying  one's  faith — when  my  mother  came  to  my 
rescue.  She  could  read  us  both  as  an  open  book,  and 
knew  the  precise  moment  to  come  between  us. 

"Julia,  my  love,"  she  said,  "remember  that  we  wish  to 
show  Martin  those  patterns  while  it  is  daylight.  To- 
morrow is  Sunday,  you  know." 

A  little  tinge  of  color  crept  over  Julia's  tintless  face  as 
she  told  Pellet  he  might  go.  I  almost  wished  I  might  be 
dismissed  too;  but  it  was  only  a  vague,  wordless  wish. 
We  then  drew  near  the  window,  from  which  we  could  see 
Sark  so  clearly,  and  Julia  drew  out  of  her  pocket  a  very 
large  envelope,  which  was  bursting  with  its  contents. 

They  were  small  scraps  of  white  silk  and  white  satin. 
I  took  them  mechanically  into  my  hand,  and  could  not 
help  admiring  their  pure,  lustrous,  glossy  beauty.  I 
passed  my  fingers  over  them  softly.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  sight  of  them  that  moved  me,  as  if  they  were 
fragments  of  the  shining  garments  of  some  vision,  which 
in  times  gone  by,  when  I  was  much  younger,  had  now 
and  then  floated  before  my  fancy.  I  did  not  know  any 
one  lovely  enough  to  wear  raiment  of  glistening  white  like 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  117 

these,  unless — unless A  passing  glimpse  of  the  pure 

white  face,  and   glossy  hair,  and  deep  gray  eyes  of  my 
Sark  patient  flashed  across  me. 

"  They  are  patterns  for  Julia's  wedding-dress,"  said  my 
mother,  in  a  low,  tender  voice. 


Ii8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

STOLEN   WATERS    ARE    SWEET. 

1WAS  neither  in  good  spirits  nor  in  good  temper  dur- 
ing the  next  few  days.  My  mother  and  Julia  ap- 
peared astonished  at  this,  for  I  was  not  ordinarily  as  touchy 
and  fractious  as  I  showed  myself  immediately  after  my 
sojourn  in  Sark. 

I  was  ashamed  of  it  myself.  The  new  house,  which 
occupied  their  time  and  thoughts  so  agreeably,  worried 
me  as  it  had  not  done  before.  I  made  every  possible  ex- 
cuse not  to  be  sent  to  it,  or  taken  to  it,  several  times  a 
day. 

The  discussions  over  Julia's  wedding-dress  also,  which 
had  by  no  means  been  decided  upon  on  Saturday  after- 
noon, began  to  bore  me  beyond  words.  Whenever  I 
could,  I  made  my  patients  a  pretext  for  getting  away  from 
them. 

One  of  them,  a  cousin  of  my  mother — as  I  have  said, 
we  were  all  cousins  of  one  degree  or  another — Captain 
Carey,  met  me  on  the  quay,  a  day  or  two  after  my  return. 
He  had  been  a  commander  in  the  Royal  Navy,  and  after 
cruising  about  in  all  manner  of  unhealthy  latitudes,  had 
returned  to  his  native  island  for  the  recovery  of  his  health. 
He  and  his  sister  lived  together  in  a  very  pleasant  house 
of  their  own,  in  the  Vale,  about  two  miles  from  St.  Peter- 
port. 

He  looked  yellow  enough  to  be  on  the  verge  of  an  at- 
tack of  jaundice  when  he  came  across  me. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  119 

"  Hallo,  Martin !  "  he  cried,  "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you, 
my  boy.  I've  been  a  little  out  of  sorts  lately ;  but  I  would 
not  let  Johanna  send  for  your  father.  He  does  very  well 
to  go  dawdling  after  women,  and  playing  with  their  pulses, 
but  I  don't  want  him  dawdling  after  me.  Tell  me  what 
you  have  to  say  about  me,  my  lad." 

He  went  on  to  tell  me  his  symptoms,  while  a  sudden 
idea  struck  me  almost  like  a  flash  of  genius. 

I  am  nothing  of  a  genius ;  but  at  that  time  new  thoughts 
came  into  my  mind  with  wonderful  rapidity.  It  was  pos- 
itively necessary  tl>at  I  should  run  over  to  Sark  this  week 
— I  had  given  my  word  to  Miss  Ollivier  that  I  would  do 
so — but  I  dared  not  mention  such  a  project  at  home.  My 
mother  and  Julia  would  be  up  in  arms  at  the  first  syllable 
I  uttered. 

What  if  I  could  do  two  patients  good  at  one  stroke — 
kill  two  birds  with  one  stone?  Captain  Carey  had  a  pretty 
little  yacht  lying  idle  in  St.  Sampson's  harbor,  and  a  day's 
cruising  would  do  him  all  the  good  in  the  world.  Why 
should  he  not  carry  me  over  to  Sark,  when  I  could  visit 
my  other  patient,  and  nobody  be  made  miserable  by  the 
trip? 

"  I  will  make  you  up  some  of  your  old  medicine,"  I 
said,  "  but  I  strongly  recommend  you  to  have  a  day  out 
on  the  water ;  seven  or  eight  hours,  at  any  rate.  If  the 
weather  keeps  as  fine  as  it  is  now,  it  will  do  you  a  world 
of  good." 

"It  is  so  dreary  alone,"  he  objected,  "and  Johanna 
would  not  care  to  go  out  at  this  season,  I  know." 

"If  I  could  manage  it,"  I  said,  deliberating,  "I  should 
be  glad  to  have  a  day  with  you." 

"Ah !  if  you  could  do  that !  "  he  replied  eagerly. 

"  I'll  see  about  it,"  I  said.  "  Should  you  mind  where 
you  sailed  to?" 


120  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  my  boy,"  he  answered,  "so  that 
I  get  your  company.  You  shall  be  skipper  or  helmsman, 
or  both,  if  you  like." 

"  Well  then,"  I  replied,  "you  might  take  me  over  to  the 
Havre  Gosselin,  to  see  how  my  patient's  broken  arm  is 
going  on.  It's  a  bore  there  being  no  resident  medical 
man  there  at  this  moment.  The  accident  last  autumn 
was  a  great  loss  to  the  island." 

"Ah!  poor  fellow!  "  said  Captain  Carey,  "he  was  a  sad 
loss  to  them.  But  Til  take  you  over  with  pleasure,  Mar- 
tin ;  any  day  you  fix  upon." 

"Get  the  yacht  ship-shape,  then,"  I  said;  "I  think  I 
can  manage  it  on  Thursday." 

I  did  not  say  at  home  whither  I  was  bound  on  Thurs- 
day. I  informed  them  merely  that  Captain  Carey  and  I 
were  going  out  in  his  yacht  for  a  few  hours.  This  was 
simply  to  prevent  them  from  worrying  themselves. 

It  was  as  delicious  a  spring  morning  as  ever  I  remem- 
ber. As  I  rode  along  the  flat  shore  between  St.  Peter- 
port  and  St.  Sampson's,  the  fresh  air  from  the  sea  played 
about  my  face,  as  if  to  drive  dull  care  away,  and  make  me 
as  buoyant  and  debonnair  as  itself.  The  little  waves  were 
glittering  and  dancing  in  the  sunshine,  and  chiming  with 
the  merry  carols  of  the  larks,  out-singing  one  another  in 
the  blue  sky  overhead.  The  numerous  wind-mills,  like 
children's  toys,  which  were  pumping  water  out  of  the  stone- 
quarries,  whirled  and  spun  busily  in  the  brisk  breeze. 
Every  person  I  met  saluted  me  with  a  blithe  and  cheery 
greeting.  My  dull  spirits  had  been  blown  far  away  be- 
fore I  set  foot  on  the  deck  of  Captain  Carey's  litle  yacht. 

The  run  over  was  all  that  we  could  wish.  The  cockle- 
shell of  a  boat  belonging  to  the  yacht  bore  me  to  the  foot 
of  the  ladder  hanging  down  the  rock  at  Havre  Gosselin. 
A  very  few  minutes   took  me  to  the  top  of   the  cliff,  and 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  121 

there  lay  the  little  thatched  nest-like  home  of  my  patient. 
I  hastened  forward  eagerly. 

The  place  seemed  very  solitary  and  deserted;  and  a 
sudden  fear  came  across  me.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
should  be  dead?  It  was  possible.  I  had  left  her  six  days 
ago  only  just  over  a  terrible  crisis.  There  might  have 
been  a  relapse,  a  failure  of  vital  force.  I  might  be  come 
to  find  those  shining  eyes  hid  beneath  their  lids  forever, 
and  the  pale,  suffering  face  motionless  in  death. 

Certainly  the  rhythmic  motion  of  my  heart  was  dis- 
turbed. I  felt  it  contract  painfully,  and  its  beating  sus- 
pended for  a  moment  or  two.  The  farmstead  was  in- 
tensely quiet,  with  the  ominous  still  of  death.  All  the 
windows  were  shrouded  with  their  check  curtains.  There 
was  no  clatter  of  Suzanne's  wooden  clogs  about  the  fold 
or  the  kitchen.  If  it  had  been  Sunday  this  supernatural 
silence  would  have  been  easily  accounted  for;  but  it  was 
Thursday.  I  scarcely  dared  go  on  and  learn  the  cause  of  it. 

All  silent  still  as  I  crossed  the  stony  causeway  of  the 
yard.  Not  a  face  looked  out  from  door  or  window. 
Mam'zelle's  casement  stood  a  little  way  open,  and  the 
breeze  played  with  the  curtains,  fluttering  them  like  ban- 
ners in  a  procession.  I  dared  not  try  to  look  in.  The 
house-door  was  ajar,  and  I  approached  it  cautiously. 
"Thank  God!"  I  cried  within  myself  as  I  gazed  eagerly 
into  the  cottage. 

She  was  lying  there  upon  the  fern  bed,  half-asleep,  her 
head  fallen  back  upon  the  pillow,  and  the  book  she  had 
been  reading  dropped  from  her  hand.  Her  dress  was  of 
some  coarse  dark  green  stuff,  which  made  a  charming 
contrast  to  her  delicate  face  and  bright  hair.  The  whole 
interior  of  the  cottage  formed  a  picture.  The  old  furni- 
ture of  oak  almost  black  with  age,  the  neutral  tints  of  the 
wall  and  ceiling,  and   the   deep   tone  of  her  green   dress 


122  THE   DOCTORS  DILEMMA. 

threw  out  into  strong  relief  the  graceful  shining  head  and 
pale  face. 

I  suppose  she  became  subtly  conscious,  as  women  always 
are,  that  somebody's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her,  for  she 
awoke  fully,  and  looked  up  as  I  lingered  on  the  door-sill. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Martin!  "  she  cried,  "I  am  so  glad!  " 

She  looked  pleased  enough  to  be  upon  the  point  of 
trying  to  raise  herself  up  in  order  to  welcome  me,  but  I 
interposed  quickly.  It  was  more  difficult  than  I  had  ex- 
pected to  assume  a  grave  professional  tone,  but  by  an 
effort  I  did  so.  I  bade  her  lie  still,  and  took  a  chair  at 
some  little  distance. 

"Tardifis  gone  out  fishing,"  she  said,  "and  his  mother 
is  gone  away  too,  to  a  christening  feast  somewhere ;  but 
Mrs.  Renouf  is  to  be  here  in  an  hour  or  two.  I  told  them 
I  could  manage  very  well  as  long  as  that." 

"They  ought  not  to  have  left  you  alone,"  I  replied. 

"And  I  shall  not  be  left  alone,"  she  said,  smiling,  "for 
you  are  come,  you  see.  I  am  rather  glad  they  are  away; 
for  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  much  I  felt  your  goodness  to 
me  all  through  that  dreadful  week.  You  are  the  first  doc- 
tor I  ever  had  about  me,  the  very  first.  Perhaps  you 
thought  I  did  not  know  what  care  you  were  taking  of  me ; 
but  somehow  or  other  I  knew  everything.  My  mind  did 
not  quite  go.     You  were  very,  very  good  to  me." 

"Never  mind  that,"  I  said;  "I  am  come  to  see  how 
my  work  is  going  on.     How  is  the  arm,  first  of  all?  " 

I  almost  wished  that  mother  Renouf  or  Suzanne  Tardif 
had  been  at  hand.  But  Miss  Ollivier  seemed  perfectly 
composed,  as  much  so  as  a  child.  She  looked  like  one 
with  her  cropped  head  of  hair,  and  frank,  open  face.  My 
own  momentary  embarrassment  passed  away.  The  arm 
was  going  on  all  right,  and  so  was  mother  Renouf s  charge, 
the  sprained  ankle. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  123 

"  We  must  take  care  you  are  not  lame,"  I  said  while  I 
was  feeling  carefully  the  complicated  joint  of  her  ankle. 

"Lame!  "  she  repeated  in  an  alarmed  voice,  "is  there 
any  fear  of  that?  " 

"Not  much,"  I  answered,  "  but  we  must  be  careful, 
mam'zelle.  You  must  promise  me  not  to  set  your  foot 
on  the  ground,  or  in  any  way  rest  your  weight  upon  it, 
till  I  give  you  leave." 

"  That  means  that  you  will  have  to  come  to  see  me 
again,"  she  said;  "is  it  not  very  difficult  to  come  over 
from  Guernsey?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  "it  is  quite  a  treat  to  me." 

Her  face  grew  very  grave,  as  if  she  was  thinking  of  some 
unpleasant  topic.  She  looked  at  me  earnestly  and  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  with  great  plainness,  Dr.  Martin?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Speak  precisely  what  is  in  your  mind  at  this  moment," 
I  replied. 

"  You  are  very,  very  good  to  me,"  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hand  to  me,  "  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  come  more 
often  than  is  quite  necessary,  because  I  am  very  poor.  If 
I  were  rich,"  she  went  on  hurriedly,  "  I  should  like  you 
to  come  every  day — it  is  so  pleasant — but  I  can  never  pay 
you  sufficiently  for  that  long  week  you  were  here.  So 
please  do  not  visit  me  oftener  than  is  quite  necessary." 

My  face  felt  hot,  but  I  scarcely  knew  what  to  say.  I 
bungled  out  an  answer. 

"  I  would  not  take  any  money  from  you,  and  I  shall 
come  to  see  you  as  often  as  I  can." 

I  bound  up  her  little  foot  again  without  another  word, 
and  then  sat  down,  pushing  my  chair  further  from  her. 

"You  are  not  offended  with  me,  Dr.  Martin?"  she 
asked,  in  a  pleading  tone. 


124  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  No,"  I  answered ;  "  but  you  are  mistaken  in  supposing 
a  medical  man  has  no  love  for  his  profession  apart  from 
its  profits.  To  see  that  your  arm  gets  properly  well  is 
part  of  my  duty,  and  I  shall  fulfil  it  without  any  thought 
of  whether  I  shall  get  paid  for  it  or  no." 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  I  must  let  you  know  how  poor  I  am. 
Will  you  please  to  fetch  me  my  box  out  of  my  room?" 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  obey  her.  This  seemed  to  be 
an  opening  to  a  complete  confidence  between  us.  Now 
I  came  to  think  of  it,  fortune  had  favored  me  in  thus 
throwing  us  together  alone. 

I  lifted  the  small,  light  box  very  easily — there  could  not 
be  many  treasures  in  it — and  carried  it  back  to  her.  She 
took  a  key  out  of  her  pocket  and  unlocked  it  with  some 
difficulty,  but  she  could  not  raise  the  lid  without  my  help. 
I  took  care  not  to  offer  any  assistance  until  she  asked  it. 

Yes,  there  were  very  few  possessions  in  that  light  trunk, 
but  the  first  glance  showed  me  a  blue  silk  dress,  and  seal- 
skin jacket  and  hat.  I  lifted  them  out  for  her,  and  after 
them  a  pair  of  velvet  slippers,  soiled,  as  if  they  had  been 
through  muddy  roads.  I  did  not  utter  a  remark.  Be- 
neath these  lay  a  handsome  watch  and  chain,  a  fine  dia- 
mond ring,  and  five  sovereigns  lying  loose  in  the  box. 

"  That  is  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world,"  she  said 
sadly. 

I  laid  the  five  sovereigns  in  her  small  white  hand,  and 
she  turned  them  over,  one  after  another,  with  a  pitiful 
look  on  her  face.  I  felt  foolish  enough  to  cry  over  them 
myself. 

"  Dr.  Martin,"  was  her  unexpected  question  after  a  long 
pause,  "  do  you  know  what  became  of  my  hair?  " 

"  Why?  "  I  asked,  looking  at  her  fingers  running  through 
the  short  curls  we  had  left  her. 

"  Because  that  ought  to  be  sold  for  something,"  she  said. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"5 


"  I  am  almost  glad  you  had  it  cut  off.  My  hairdresser 
told  me  once  he  would  give  five  guineas  for  a  head  of  hair 
like  mine,  it  was  so  long,  and  the  color  was  uncommon. 
Five  guineas  would  not  be  half  enough  to  pay  you  though, 
I  know." 

She  spoke  so  simply  and  quietly,  that  I  did  not  attempt 
to  remonstrate  with  her  about  her  anxiety  to  pay  me. 

"Tardif  has  it,"  I  said;  "but  of  course  he  will  give  it 
you  back  again.     Shall  I  sell  it  for  you,  mam'zelle?  " 

"Oh,  that  is  just  what  I  could  not  ask  you!  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  You  see,  there  is  no  one  to  buy  it  here,  and  I 
hope  it  may  be  a  long  time  before  I  go  away.  I  don't 
know,  though ;  that  depends  upon  whether  I  can  dispose 
of  my  things.  There  is  my  sealskin:  it  cost  twenty-five 
guineas  last  year,  and  it  ought  to  be  worth  something. 
And  my  watch— see  what  a  nice  one  it  is.  I  should  like 
to  sell  them  all,  every  one.  Then  I  could  stay  here  as 
long  as  the  money  lasted." 

"How  much  do  you  pay  here?"  I  inquired,  for  she 
had  taken  me  so  far  into  counsel  that  I  felt  justified  in 
asking  that  question. 

"A  pound  a  week,"  she  answered. 

"A  pound  a  week !  "  I  repeated,  in  amazement.  "  Does 
Tardif  know  that?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  does,"  she  said.  "  When  I  had  been 
here  a  week  I  gave  Mrs.  Tardif  a  sovereign,  thinking  per- 
haps she  would  give  me  a  little  out  of  it.  I  am  not  used 
to  being  poor,  and  I  did  not  know  how  much  I  ought  to 
pay.  But  she  kept  it  all,  and  came  to  me  every  week  for 
more.     Was  it  too  much  to  pay?  " 

"  Too  much !  "  I  said.  "  You  should  have  spoken  to 
Tardif  about  it,  my  poor  child." 

"  I  could  not  talk  to  Tardif  about  his  mother,"  she 
answered.     "  Besides,  it  would  not  have  been  too  much,  if 


126  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  had  only  had  plenty.  But  it  has  made  me  so  anxious. 
I  did  not  know  whatever  I  should  do  when  it  was  all  gone. 
I  do  not  know  now." 

Here  was  a  capital  opening  for  a  question  about  her 
friends. 

"  You  will  be  compelled  to  communicate  with  your 
family,"  I  said.  "You  have  told  me  how  poor  you  are; 
cannot  you  trust  me  about  your  friends?  " 

"  I  have  no  friends,"  she  answered  sorrowfully.  "  If  I 
had  any,  do  you  suppose  I  should  be  here?" 

"I  am  one,"  I  said,  "and  Tardif  is  another." 

"Ah,  new  friends,"  she  replied;  "but  I  mean  real  old 
friends  who  have  known  you  all  your  life,  like  your  mother, 
Dr.  Martin,  or  your  cousin  Julia.  I  want  somebody  to 
go  to  who  knows  all  about  me,  and  say  to  them,  after  tell- 
ing them  everything,  keeping  nothing  back  at  all,  '  Have 
I  done  right?  What  else  ought  I  to  have  done?'  No 
new  friend  could  answer  questions  like  those." 

Was  there  any  reason  I  could  bring  forward  to  increase 
her  confidence  in  me?  I  thought  there  was,  and  her 
friendlessness  and  helplessness  touched  me  to  the  core  of 
my  heart.  Yet  it  was  with  an  indefinable  reluctance  that 
I  brought  forward  my  argument. 

"  Miss  Ollivier,"  I  said,  "  I  have  no  claim  of  old  ac- 
quaintance or  friendship,  yet  it  is  possible  I  might  answer 
those  questions,  if  you  could  prevail  upon  yourself  to  tell 
me  the  circumstances  of  your  former  life.  In  a  few  weeks  I 
shall  be  in  a  position  to  show  you  more  friendship  than  I  can 
do  now.  I  shall  have  a  home  of  my  own,  and  a  wife,  who 
will  be  your  friend  more  fittingly,  perhaps,  than  myself." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  answered,  half  shyly.  "  Tardif  told 
me  you  were  going  to  marry  your  cousin  Julia." 

Just  then  we  heard  the  fold-yard  gate  swing  to  behind 
some  one  who  was  coming  to  the  house. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  127 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

ONE    IN    A    THOUSAND. 

1HAD  altogether  forgotten  that  Captain  Carey's  yacht 
was,  waiting  for  me  off  the  little  bay  below;  and  I 
sprang  quickly  to  the  door  in  the  dread  that  he  had 
followed  me. 

It  was  an  immense  relief  to  see  only  Tardifs  tall  figure 
bending  under  his  creel  and  nets,  and  crossing  the  yard 
slowly.  I  hailed  him,  and  he  quickened  his  pace,  his 
honest  features  lighting  up  at  the  sight  of  me. 

"How  do  you  find  mam'zelle,  doctor?"  were  his  first 
words. 

"All  right,"  I  said;  "going  on  famously.  Sark  is 
enough  to  cure  any  one  and  anything  of  itself,  Tardif. 
There  is  no  air  like  it.  I  should  not  mind  being  a  little 
ill  here  myself." 

"  Captain  Carey  is  impatient  to  be  gone,"  he  continued. 
"  He  sent  word  by  me  that  you  might  be  visiting  every 
house  in  the  island,  you  had  been  away  so  long." 

"Not  so  very  long,"  I  said  testily;  "but  I  will  just  run 
in  and  say  good-by,  and  then  I  want  you  to  walk  with 
me  to  the  cliff." 

I  turned  back  for  a  last  look  and  a  last  word.  No 
chance  of  learning  her  secret  now.  The  picture  was  as 
perfect  as  when  I  had  had  the  first  glimpse  of  it,  only  her 
face  had  grown  if  possible  more  charming  after  my 
renewed  scrutiny  of  it. 

There  are  faces  that  grow  upon  you  the  longer  and  the 


128  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

oftener  you  look  upon  them ;  faces  that  seem  to  have  a 
veil  over  them,  which  melts  away  like  the  thin,  fine  mist 
of  the  morning  upon  the  cliffs,  until  they  flash  out  in  their 
full  color  and  beauty.  The  last  glance  was  eminently 
satisfactory,  and  so  was  the  last  word. 

"  Shall  I  send  you  the  hair? "  asked  Miss  Ollivier, 
returning  practically  to  a  matter  of  business. 

"  To  be  sure,1'  I  answered.  "  I  shall  dispose  of  it  to 
advantage,  but  I  have  not  time  to  wait  for  it  now." 

"And  may  I  write  a  letter  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  my  reply:  I  was  too  pleased  to  express  my- 
self more  eloquently. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said;  "you  are  a  very  good  doctor  to 
me." 

"And  friend?"   I  added. 

"And  friend,"  she  repeated. 

That  was  the  last  word,  for  I  was  compelled  to  hurry 
away.  Tardif  accompanied  me  to  the  cliff,  and  I  took 
the  opportunity  to  tell  him  as  pleasantly  as  I  could  the 
extravagant  charge  his  mother  had  made  upon  her  lodger, 
and  the  girl's  anxiety  about  the  future.  A  more  grieved 
look  never  came  across  a  man's  face. 

"  Dr.  Martin,"  he  said,  "  I  would  have  cut  off  my  hand 
rather  than  it  had  been  so.  Poor  little  mam'zelle! 
Poor  old  mother!  She  is  growing  old,  sir,  and  old  people 
are  greedy.  The  fall  of  the  year  is  dark  and  cold,  and 
gives  nothing,  but  takes  away  all  it  can,  and  hoards  it  for 
the  young  new  spring  that  is  to  follow.  It  seems  almost 
the  nature  of  old  age.  Poor  old  mother!  I  am  very 
grieved  for  her.  And  I  am  troubled,  troubled  about 
manfzelle.  To  think  she  has  been  fretting  all  the  winter 
about  this,  when  I  was  trying  to  find  out  how  to  cheer 
her!  Only  five  pounds  left,  poor  little  soul!  Why!  all 
I  have  is  at  her  service.     It  is  enough  to  have  her  only 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


29 


in  the  house,  with  her  pretty  ways  and  sweet  voice.  I'll 
put  it  all  right  with  mam'zelle,  sir,  and  with  my  poor  old 
mother  too.     I  am  very  sorry  for  her." 

"  Miss  Ollivier  has  been  asking  me  to  sell  her  hair,"  I  said. 

"No,  no,"  he  answered  hastily,  "not  a  single  hair!  I 
cannot  say  yes  to  that.  The  pretty  bright  curls !  If  any- 
body is  to  buy  them,  I  will.  Yes,  doctor;  that  is  famous. 
She  wishes  you  to  sell  her  hair?  Very  good;  I  will  buy 
it;  it  must  be  mine.  I  have  more  money  than  you  think, 
perhaps.  I  will  buy  mam'zelle's  pretty  curls;  and  she 
shall  have  the  money,  and  then  there  will  be  more  than 
five  pounds  in  her  little  purse.  Tell  me  how  much  they 
will  be.     Ten  pounds?     Fifteen?     Twenty?" 

"Nonsense,  Tardif,"  I  answered;  "keep  one  of  them, 
if  you  like :  but  I  must  have  the  rest.  We  will  settle  it 
between  us." 

"  No,  doctor,"  he  said ;  "  your  cousin  will  not  like  that. 
You  are  going  to  be  married  soon ;  it  would  not  do  for 
you  to  keep  mam'zelle's  curls." 

It  was  said  with  so  much  simplicity  and  good-hearted- 
ness  that  I  felt  ashamed  of  a  rising  feeling  of  resentment, 
and  parted  with  him  cordially.  In  a  few  minutes  after- 
ward I  was  on  board  the  yacht,  and  laughing  at  Captain 
Carey's  reproaches.  Tardif  was  still  visible  on  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  watching  our  departure. 

"  That  is  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  breathed,"  said  Cap- 
tain Carey,  waving  his  cap  to  him. 

"  I  know  it  better  than  you  do,"  I  replied. 

"And  how  is  the  young  woman?  "  he  asked. 

"  Going  on  as  well  as  a  broken  arm  and  a  sprained  ankle 
can  do,"  I  answered. 

"You  will  want  to  come  again,  Martin,"  he  said; 
"when  are  we  to  have  another  day?  " 

"  Well,  I  shall  hear  how  she  is  every  now  and  then,"  I  an- 
9 


130  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

swered;  "  it  takes  too  long  a  time  to  come  more  often  than 
is  necessary.     But  you  will  bring  me  if  it  is  necessary?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Captain  Carey. 

For  the  next  few  days  I  waited  with  some  impatience 
for  Miss  Ollivier's  promised  letter.  It  came  at  last,  and 
I  put  it  into  my  pocket  to  read  when  I  was  alone — why,  I 
could  scarcely  have  explained  to  myself. 

"  Dear  Dr.  Martin,"  it  began,  "  I  have  no  little  commis- 
sion to  trouble  you  with.  Tardif  tells  me  it  was  quite  a 
mistake,  his  mother  taking  a  sovereign  from  me  each 
week.  She  does  not  understand  English  money;  and  he 
says  I  have  paid  quite  sufficient  to  stay  with  them  a  whole 
year  longer  without  paying  any  more.  I  am  quite  content 
about  that  now.  Tardif  says,  too,  that  he  has  a  friend 
in  Southampton  who  will  buy  my  hair,  and  give  more  than 
anybody  in  Guernsey.  So  I  need  not  trouble  you  about 
it,  though  I  am  sure  you  would  have  done  it  for  me. 

"  I  have  not  put  my  foot  to  the  ground  yet ;  but  yester- 
day Tardif  carried  me  all  the  way  down  to  his  boat,  and 
took  me  out  for  a  little  sail  under  the  beautiful  cliffs,  where 
we  could  look  up  and  see  all  those  strange  carvings  upon 
the  rocks.  I  thought  that  perhaps  there  were  things 
written  there  that  we  should  like  to  read.  Sometimes  in 
the  sky  there  are  fine  faint  lines  across  the  blue  which 
look  like  written  sentences,  if  one  could  only  make  them 
out.  Here  they  are  on  the  rocks,  but  every  tide  washes 
them  away,  leaving  fresh  ones.  Perhaps  they  are  mes- 
sages to  me,  answers  to  those  questions  that  I  cannot 
answer  myself. 

"  Good-bv,  my  good  doctor.  I  am  trying  to  do  every- 
thing you  told  me  exactly;  and  I  am  getting  well  again 
fast.  I  do  not  believe  I  shall  be  lame ;  you  are  too  clever 
for  that.  "  Your  patient, 

"  Olivia." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  131 

Olivia!  I  looked  at  the  word  again  to  make  sure  of  it. 
Then  it  was  not  her  surname  that  was  Ollivier,  and  I  was 
still  ignorant  of  that.  I  saw  in  a  moment  how  the  mistake 
had  arisen,  and  how  innocent  she  was  of  any  deception  in 
the  matter.  She  would  tell  Tardif  that  her  name  was 
Olivia,  and  he  thought  only  of  the  Olliviers  he  knew.  It 
was  a  mistake  that  had  been  of  use  in  checking  curiosity, 
and  I  did  not  feel  bound  to  put  it  right.  My  mother  and 
Julia  appeared  to  have  forgotten  my  patient  in  Sark  alto- 
gether. 

Olivia!  I  thought  it  a  very  pretty  name,  and  repeated 
it  to  myself  with  its  abbreviations,  Olive,  Livy.  It  was 
difficult  to  abbreviate  Julia;  Ju  I  had  called  her  in  my 
rudest  school-boy  days.  I  wondered  how  high  Olivia 
would  stand  beside  me ;  for  I  had  never  seen  her  on  her 
feet.  Julia  was  not  two  inches  shorter  than  myself;  a 
tall,  stiff  figure,  neither  slender  enough  to  be  lissome,  nor 
well-proportioned  enough  to  be  majestic.  But  she  was 
very  good,  and  her  price  was  far  above  rubies. 

According  to  the  wise  man  it  was  a  difficult  task  to  find 
a  virtuous  woman. 

It  was  a  quiet  time  in  the  afternoon,  and  in  order  to 
verify  my  recollection  of  the  wise  man's  saying,  which  was 
a  little  cloudy  in  my  memory,  I  searched  through  Julia's 
Bible  for  it.  I  came  across  a  passage  which  made  me 
pause  and  consider.  "  Behold,  this  have  I  found,  saith 
the  preacher,  counting  one  by  one,  to  find  out  the  ac- 
count :  which  yet  my  soul  seeketh,  but  I  find  not :  one 
man  among  a  thousand  have  I  found;  but  a  woman 
among  all  those  have  I  not  found." 

"Tardif  is  the  man,"  I  said  to  myself,  "but  is  Julia  the 
woman?     Have  I  had  better  luck  than  Solomon?" 

"What  are  you  reading,  Martin?"  asked  my  father, 
who  had  just  come  in,  and  was  painfully  fitting  on  a  pair 


I32  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

of  new  and  very  tight  kid  gloves.  I  read  the  passage 
aloud,  without  comment. 

"Very  good!"  he  remarked,  chuckling,  "upon  my 
word!  I  did  not  know  there  was  anything  as  rich  as  that 
in  the  old  book!  Who  says  it,  Martin?  A  very  wise 
preacher  he  was,  and  knew  what  he  was  talking  about. 
Had  seen  life,  eh?     It's  as  true  as — as — as  the  gospel.'' 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  comparison  he  was 
forced  to;  yet  I  felt  angry  with  him  and  myself. 

"  What  do  you  say  about  my  mother  and  Julia,  sir?  "  I 
asked. 

He  chuckled  again  cynically,  examining  with  care  a 
spot  on  the  palm  of  one  of  his  gloves.  "Ha!  ha!  my 
son  " — I  hated  to  hear  him  say  "  my  son  " — "  I  will  answer 
you  in  the  words  of  another  wise  man :  *  Most  virtuous 
women,  like  hidden  treasures,  are  secure  because  nobody 
seeks  after  them.' " 

So  saying  he  turned  out  of  the  room,  swinging  his  gold- 
headed  cane  jauntily  between  his  fingers. 

I  visited  Sark  again  in  about  ten  days,  to  set  Olivia  free 
from  my  embargo  upon  her  walking.  I  allowed  her  to 
walk  a  little  way  along  a  smooth  meadow  path,  leaning  on 
my  arm ;  and  I  found  that  she  was  a  head  lower  than  my- 
self— a  beautiful  height  for.  a  woman.  That  time  Captain 
Carey  had  set  me  down  at  the  Havre  Gosselin,  appointing 
me  to  meet  him  at  the  Creux  Harbor,  which  was  exactly 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  island.  In  crossing  over  to  it 
— a  distance  of  rather  more  than  a  mile — I  encountered 
Julia's  friends,  Emma  and  Maria  Brouard. 

"You  here  again,  Martin!  "  exclaimed  Emma. 

"Yes,"  I  answered;  "Captain  Carey  set  me  down  at 
the  Havre  Gosselin,  and  is  gone  round  to  meet  me  at  the 
Creux." 

"  You  have  been  to  see  that  young  person  ?  "  asked  Maria. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  133 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"She  is  a  very  singular  young  woman/'  she  continued; 
"we  think  her  stupid.  We  cannot  make  anything  of  her. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  poor  Tardif  means  to  marry  her." 

"Nonsense!  "  I  ejaculated  hotly;  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Maria,  but  I  give  Tardif  credit  for  sense  enough  to  know 
his  own  position." 

"So  did  we,"  said  Emma,  "but  it  looks  odd.  He 
married  an  Englishwoman  before.  It's  old  Mere  Renouf 
who  says  he  worships  the  ground  she  treads  upon.  You 
know  he  holds  a  very  good  position  in  the  island  and  he 
is  a  great  favorite  with  the  seigneur.  There  are  dozens 
of  girls  of  his  own  class  in  Guernsey  and  Alderney,  to  say 
nothing  of  Sark,  who  would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  him. 
He  is  a  very  handsome  man,  Martin." 

"  Tardif  is  a  fine  fellow,"  I  admitted. 

"  I  shall  be  very  sorry  for  him  to  be  taken  in  again," 
continued  Emma;  "  nobody  knows  who  that  young  person 
may  be ;  it  looks  odd  on  the  face  of  it.  Are  you  in  a 
hurry?  Well,  good-by.  Give  our  best  love  to  dear  Julia. 
We  are  busy  at  work  on  a  wedding  present  for  her ;  but 
you  must  not  tell  her  that,  you  know." 

I  went  on  in  a  hot  rage,  shapeless  and  wordless,  but 
smouldering  like  a  fire  within  me.  The  cool,  green  lane, 
deep  between  hedge-rows,  the  banks  of  which  were 
gemmed  with  primroses,  had  no  effect  upon  me  just  then. 
Tardif  marry  Olivia!  That  was  an  absurd,  preposterous 
notion,  indeed.  It  required  all  my  knowledge  of  the  in- 
fluence of  dress  on  the  average  human  mind,  to  convince 
myself  that  Olivia,  in  her  coarse  green  serge  dress,  had 
impressed  the  people  of  Sark  with  the  notion  that  she 
would  be  no  unsuitable  mate  for  their  rough,  though  good 
and  handsome  fisherman. 

WTas  it  possible  that  they  thought  her  stupid  ?     Reserved 


134  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

and  silent  she  might  be,  as  she  wished  to  remain  un- 
molested and  concealed ;  but  not  stupid !  That  any  one 
should  dream  so  wildly  as  to  think  of  Olivia  marrying 
Tardif,  was  the  utmost  folly  I  could  imagine. 

I  had  half  an  hour  to  wait  in  the  little  harbor,  its  great 
cliffs  rising  all  about  me,  with  only  a  tunnel  bored  through 
them  to  form  an  entrance  to  the  green  island  within.  Mj 
rage  had  partly  fumed  itself  away  before  the  yacht  cam< 
in  sight. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  135 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

OVERHEAD    IN    LOVE. 

AWFULLY  fast  the  time  sped  away.  It  was  the  second 
week  in  March  I  passed  in  Sark;  the  second  week 
in  May  came  upon  me  as  if  borne  by  a  whirlwind.  It 
was  only  a  month  to  the  day  so  long  fixed  upon  for  our 
marriage.  My  mother  began  to  fidget  about  my  going 
over  to  London  to  pay  my  farewell  bachelor  visit  to  Jack 
Senior,  and  to  fit  myself  out  with  wedding  toggery.  Julia's 
was  going  on  fast  to  completion.  Our  trip  to  Switzerland 
was  distinctly  planned  out,  almost  from  day  to  day.  Go 
I  must  to  London ;  order  my  wedding  suit  I  must. 

But  first  there  could  be  no  harm  in  running  over  to 
Sark  to  see  Olivia  once  more.  As  soon  as  I  was  married 
I  would  tell  Julia  all  about  her.  But  if  either  arm  or  ankle 
went  wrong  for  want  of  attention,  I  should  never  forgive 
myself. 

"When  shall  we  have  another  run  together,  Captain 
Carey?  "  I  asked. 

"Any  day  you  like,  my  boy,"  he  answered ;  "  your  days 
of  liberty  are  growing  few  and  short  now,  eh?  I've  never 
had  a  chance  of  trying  it  myself,  Martin,  but  they  are 
nervous  times,  I  should  think.  Cruising  in  doubtful 
channels,  eh?  with  uncertain  breezes?  How  does  Julia 
keep  up?" 

"I  can  spare  to-morrow,"  I  replied,  ignoring  his  re- 
marks ;  "  on  Saturday  I  shall  cross  over  to  England  to  see 
Jack  Senior." 


136  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 

"And  bid  him  adieu?"  he  said  laughing,  "or  give  him 
an  invitation  to  your  own  house?  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
you  in  a  house  of  your  own.  Your  father  is  too  young  a 
man  for  you." 

"Can  you  take  me  to  Sark  to-morrow?  "  I  asked. 

"  To  be  sure  I  can,"  he  answered. 

It  was  the  last  time  I  could  see  Olivia  before  my  mar- 
riage. Afterward  I  should  see  much  of  her;  for  Julia 
would  invite  her  to  our  house,  and  be  a  friend  to  her.  i 
spent  a  wretchedly  sleepless  night ;  and  whenever  I  dozed 
by  fits  and  starts  I  saw  Olivia  before  me  weeping  bitterly 
and  refusing  to  be  comforted. 

From  St.  Sampson's  we  set  sail  straight  for  the  Havre 
Gosselin  without  a  word  upon  my  part;  and  the  wind 
being  in  our  favor  we  were  not  long  in  crossing  the  chan- 
nel. To  my  extreme  surprise  and  chagrin  Captain  Carey 
announced  his  intention  of  landing  with  me,  and  leaving 
the  yacht  in  charge  of  his  men  to  await  our  return. 

"The  ladder  is  excessively  awkward,"  I  objected,  "and 
some  of  the  rungs  are  loose.  You  don't  mind  running  the 
risk  of  a  plunge  into  the  water?  " 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  answered  cheerily;  "for  the 
matter  of  that,  I  plunge  into  it  every  morning  at  L'An- 
cresse.  I  want  to  see  Tardif.  He  is  one  in  a  thousand, 
as  you  say;  and  one  cannot  see  such  a  man  every  day  of 
one's  life." 

There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  I  gave  in,  hoping  some 
good  luck  awaited  me.  I  led  the  way  up  the  zig-zag  path, 
and  just  as  we  reached  the  top  I  saw  the  slight,  erect 
figure  of  Olivia  seated  upon  the  brow  of  a  little  grassy 
knoll  at  a  shon  distance  from  us.  Her  back  was  toward 
us,  so  she  was  not  aware  of  out  vicinity;  and  I  pointed 
toward  her  with  an  assumed  air  of  indifference. 

"I  believe  that  is  my  patient  yonder,"  I  said;   "I  will 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  137 

just  run  across  and  speak  to  her,  and  then  follow  you  to 
the  farm." 

"Ah!  "  he  exclaimed,  "there  is  a  lovely  view  from  that 
spot.  I  recollect  it  well.  I  will  go  with  you,  Martin. 
There  will  be  time  enough  to  see  Tardif." 

Did  Captain  Carey  suspect  anything?  Or  what  reason 
could  he  have  for  wishing  to  see  Olivia?  Could  it  be 
merely  that  he  wanted  to  see  the  view  from  that  particular 
spot?  I  could  not  forbid  him  accompanying  me,  but  I 
wished  him  at  Jericho. 

What  is  more  stupid  than  to  have  an  elderly  man  dog- 
ging one's  footsteps? 

I  trusted  devoutly  that  we  should  see  or  hear  Tardif 
before  reaching  the  knoll ;  but  no  such  good  fortune  befell 
me.  Olivia  did  not  hear  our  footsteps  upon  the  soft  turf, 
though  we  approached  her  very  nearly.  The  sun  shone 
upon  her  glossy  hair,  every  thread  of  which  semed  to  shine 
back  again.  She  was  reading  aloud,  apparently  to  her- 
self; and  the  sounds  of  her  sweet  voice  were  wafted  by 
the  air  toward  us.  Captain  Carey's  face  became  very 
thoughtful. 

A  few  steps  nearer  brought  us  in  view  of  Tardif,  who 
had  spread  his  nets  on  the  grass,  and  was  examining  them 
narrowly  for  rents.  Just  at  this  moment  he  was  down  on 
his  knees,  not  far  from  Olivia,  gathering  some  broken 
meshes  together,  but  listening  to  her,  with  an  expression 
of  huge  contentment  upon  his  handsome  face.  A  bitter 
pang  shot  through  me.  Could  it  be  true  by  any  possi- 
bility— that  lie  I  had  heard  the  last  time  I  was  in  Sark? 

"  Good-day,  Tardif,"  shouted  Captain  Carey;  and  both 
Tardif  and  Olivia  started.  But  both  of  their  faces  grew 
brighter  at  seeing  us,  and  both  sprang  up  to  give  us  wel- 
come. Olivia's  color  had  come  back  to  her  cheeks,  and 
a  sweeter  face  no  man  ever  looked  upon. 


138  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  come  once  more,"  she  said, 
putting  her  hand  in  mine;  "you  told  me  in  your  last  letter 
you  were  going  to  England,  and  might  not  come  over  to 
Sark  before  next  autumn.  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you 
again!  " 

I  glanced  from  the  corner  of  my  eye  at  Captain  Carey. 
He  looked  very  grave,  but  his  eyes  could  not  rest  upon 
Olivia  without  admiring  her,  as  she  stood  before  us,  bright- 
faced,  slender,  erect,  with  the  heavy  folds  of  her  coarse 
dress  falling  about  her  as  gracefully  as  if  they  were  of  the 
richest  material. 

"  This  is  my  friend,  Captain  Carey,  Miss  Olivia,"  I  said, 
"in  whose  yacht  I  have  come  over  to  visit  you." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  any  friend  of  Dr.  Martin's/'  she 
answered,  as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  smile; 
"  my  doctor  and  I  are  great  friends,  Captain  Carey." 

"So  I  suppose/'  he  said  significantly — or  at  least  his 
tone  and  look  seemed  fraught  with  significance  to  me. 

"  We  were  talking  of  you  only  a  few  minutes  ago,  Dr. 
Martin,"  she  continued;  "I  was  telling  Tardif  how  you 
sang  the  '  Three  Fishers '  to  me  the  last  time  you  were 
here,  and  how  it  rings  in  my  ears  still,  especially  when  he 
is  away  fishing.     I  repeated  the  last  three  lines  to  him : 

"  '  For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep: 
And  the  sooner  it's  over,  the  sooner  to  sleep. 

So  good-by  to  the  bar,  with  its  moaning.' " 

"I  do  not  like  it,  doctor,"  said  Tardif;  "there's  no 
hope  in  it.  Yet  to  sleep  out  yonder  at  last,  on  the  great 
plain  under  the  sea,  would  be  no  bad  thing." 

"  You  must  sing  it  for  Tardif,"  added  Olivia,  with  a 
pretty  imperiousness,  "  and  then  he  will  like  it." 

My  throat  felt  dry  and  my  tongue  parched.  I  could 
not  utter  a  word  in  reply. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


139 


"This  would  be  the  very  place  for  such  a  song,1'  said 
Captain  Carey.     "  Come,  Martin,  let  us  have  it." 

"No;  I  can  sing  nothing  to-day,"  I  answered  harshly. 

The  very  sight  of  her  made  me  feel  miserable  beyond 
words;  the  sound  of  her  voice  maddened  me.  I  felt  as 
if  I  was  angry  with  her  almost  to  hatred  for  her  grace  and 
sweetness ;  yet  I  could  have  knelt  down  at  her  feet  and 
been  happy  only  to  lay  my  hand  on  a  fold  of  her  dress.  No 
feeling  had  ever  stirred  me  so  before,  and  it  made  me  irri- 
table     Olivia's  clear  gray  eyes  looked  at  me  wonderingly. 

"Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  you,  Dr.  Martin?" 
she  inquired. 

"  No,"  I  replied,  turning  away  from  her  abruptly.  Every 
one  of  them  felt  my  rudeness ;  and  there  was  a  dead  si- 
lence among  us  for  half  a  minute,  which  seemed  an  age 
to  me.  Then  I  heard  Captain  Carey  speaking  in  his 
suavest  tones. 

"Are  you  quite  well  again,  Miss  Ollivier?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  quite  well,  I  think,"  she  said  in  a  very  subdued 
voice.  "  I  cannot  walk  far  yet,  and  rny  arm  is  still  weak ; 
but  I  think  I  am  quite  well.  I  have  given  Dr.  Martin  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  and  anxiety." 

She  spoke  in  the  low,  quiet  tones  of  a  child  who  had 
been  chidden  unreasonably.  I  was  asking  myself  what 
Captain  Carey  meant  by  not  leaving  me  alone  with  my 
patient.  When  a  medical  man  makes  a  call,  the  intrusion 
of  any  unprofessional,  indifferent  person  is  unpardonable. 
If  it  had  been  Suzanne,  Tardif,  or  mother  Renouf,  who 
was  keeping  so  close  beside  us,  I  could  have  made  no 
reasonable  objection.     But  Captain  Carey! 

"  Tardif,"  I  said,  "  Captain  Carey  came  ashore  on  pur- 
pose to  visit  you  and  your  farm.' 

I  knew  he  was  excessively  proud  of  his  farm,  which 
consisted  of  about  four  or  five  acres.     He  caught  at  the 


140  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

words  with  alacrity,  and  led  the  way  toward  his  house 
with  tremendous  strides.  There  was  no  means  of  evading 
a  tour  of  inspection,  though  Captain  Carey  appeared  to 
follow  him  reluctantly.  Olivia  and  I  were  left  alone,  but 
she  was  moving  after  them  slowly,  when  I  ran  to  her,  and 
offered  her  my  arm,  on  the  plea  that  her  ankle  was  still 
too  weak  to  bear  her  weight  unsupported. 

"Olivia!  "  I  exclaimed,  after  we  had  gone  a  few  yards, 
bringing  her  and  myself  to  a  sudden  halt.  Then  I  was 
struck  dumb.  I  had  nothing  special  to  say  to  her.  How 
was  it  I  had  called  her  so  familiarly  Olivia? 

"Well,  Dr.  Martin?"  she  said,  looking  into  my  face 
again  with  eager,  inquiring  eyes,  as  if  she  was  wishful  to 
understand  my  varying  moods  if  she  could. 

"  What  a  lovely  place  this  is!  "   I  ejaculated. 

More  lovely  than  any  words  I  ever  heard  could  describe. 
It  was  a  perfect  day  and  a  perfect  view.  The  sea  was 
like  an  opal,  changing  every  minute  with  the  passing 
shadows  of  snow-white  clouds  which  floated  lazily  across 
the  bright  blue  of  the  sky.  The  cliffs,  Sark  Cliffs,  which 
have  not  their  equal  in  the  world,  stretched  below  us, 
with  every  hue  of  gold  and  bronze,  and  hoary  white,  and 
soft  gray;  and  here  and  there  a  black  rock,  with  livid 
shades  of  purple,  and  a  bloom  upon  it  like  a  raven's  wing. 
Rocky  islets  never  trodden  by  human  foot,  over  which  the 
foam  poured  ceaselessly,  were  dotted  all  about  the  change- 
ful surface  of  the  water.  And  just  beneath  the  level  of 
my  eyes  was  Olivia's  face — the  loveliest  thing  there, 
though  there  was  so  much  beauty  lying  around  us. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  lovely  place/'  she  assented,  a  mischievous 
smile  playing  about  her  lips. 

"  Olivia,"  I  said,  taking  my  courage  by  both  hands,  "  it 
is  only  a  month  now  till  my  wedding-day." 

Was  I  deceiving  myself,  or  did  she  really  grow  paler? 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


141 


It  was  but  for  a  moment  if  it  were  so.  But  how  cold  the 
air  felt  all  in  an  instant !  The  shock  was  like  that  of  a 
first  plunge  into  chilly  waters,  and  I  was  shivering  through 
every  fibre. 

"I  hope  you  will  be  happy,"  said  Olivia,  "very  happy. 
It  is  a  great  risk  to  run.  Marriage  will  make  you  either 
very  happy  or  very  wretched." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  trying  to  speak  gayly;  "I  do 
noc  look  forward  to  any  vast  amount  of  rapture.  Julia 
and  I  will  get  along  very  well  together,  I  have  no  doubt, 
for  we  have  known  one  another  all  our  lives.  I  do  not 
expect  to  be  any  happier  than  other  men  ;  and  the  married 
people  I  have  known  have  not  exactly  dwelt  in  Paradise. 
Perhaps  your  experience  has  been  different?" 

"Oh,  no!  "  she  said,  her  hand  trembling  on  my  arm, 
and  her  face  very  downcast ;  "  but  I  should  have  liked 
you  to  be  very,  very  happy." 

So  softly  spoken,  with  such  a  low,  faltering  voice!  I 
could  not  trust  myself  to  speak  again.  A  stern  sense  of 
duty  toward  Julia  kept  me  silent;  and  we  moved  on, 
though  very  slowly  and  lingeringly. 

"  You  love  her  very  much?  "  said  the  quiet  voice  at  my 
side,  not  much  louder  than  the  voice  of  conscience,  which 
was  speaking  imperiously  just  then. 

"  I  esteem  her  more  highly  than  any  other  woman,  ex- 
cept my  mother,"  I  said.  "  I  believe  she  would  die  sooner 
than  do  anything  she  considered  wrong.  I  do  not  deserve 
her,  and  she  loves  me,  I  am  sure,  very  truly  and  faithfully." 

"Do  you  think  she  will  like  me?"  asked  Olivia  anx- 
iously. 

"No;  she  must  love  you,"  I  said,  with  warmth;  "and 
I,  too,  can  be  a  more  useful  friend  to  you  after  my  mar- 
riage than  I  am  now.  Perhaps  then  you  will  feel  free  to 
place  perfect  confidence  in  us." 


1 42  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

She  smiled  faintly,  without  speaking — a  smile  which 
said  plainly  she  could  keep  her  own  secret  closely.  It 
provoked  me  to  do  a  thing  I  had  had  no  intention  of 
doing,  and  which  I  regretted  very  much  afterward.  I 
opened  my  pocket-book,  and  drew  out  the  little  slip  of 
paper  containing  the  advertisement. 

"Read  that,"  I  said. 

But  I  do  not  think  she  saw  more  than  the  first  line,  for 
her  face  went  deadly  white,  and  her  eyes  turned  upon  me 
with  a  wild,  beseeching  look — as  Tardif  described  it,  the 
look  of  a  creature  hunted  and  terrified.  I  thought  she 
would  have  fallen,  and  I  put  my  arm  round  her.  She 
fastened  both  her  hands  about  mine,  and  her  lips  moved, 
though  I  could  not  catch  a  word  she  was  saying. 

"  Olivia!  "  I  cried,  "  Olivia!  do  you  suppose  I  could  do 
anything  to  hurt  you?  Do  not  be  so  frightened !  Why, 
I  am  your  friend  truly.  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had  not  shown 
you  the  thing.     Have  more  faith  in  me,  and  more  courage." 

"  But  they  will  find  me,  and  force  me  away  from  here," 
she  muttered. 

"No,"  I  said;  "that  advertisement  was  printed  in  the 
Ti?nes  directly  after  your  flight  last  October.  They  have 
not  found  you  out  yet ;  and  the  longer  you  are  hidden, 
the  less  likely  they  are  to  find  you.  Good  heavens!  what 
a  fool  I  was  to  show  it  to  you !  " 

"Nevermind,"  she  answered,  recovering  herself  a  little, 
but  still  clinging  to  my  arm ;  "  I  was  only  frightened  for  the 
time.    You  would  not  give  me  up  to  them  if  you  knew  all." 

"  Give  you  up  to  them !  "  I  repeated  bitterly.  "Am  I 
a  Judas?" 

But  she  could  not  talk  to  me  any  more.  She  was  trem- 
bling like  an  aspen  leaf,  and  her  breath  came  sobbingly. 
All  I  could  do  was  to  take  her  home,  blaming  myself  for 
my  cursed  folly. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  143 

1 

Captain  Carey  and  Tardif  met  us  at  the  farm-yard  gate, 
but  Olivia  could  not  speak  to  them ;  and  we  passed  them 
in  silence,  challenged  by  their  inquisitive  looks.  She 
could  only  bid  me  good-by  in  a  tremulous  voice ;  and  I 
watched  her  go  on  into  her  own  little  room,  and  close  the 
door  between  us.  That  was  the  last  I  should  see  of  her 
before  my  marriage. 

Tardif  walked  with  us  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  made 
me  a  formal,  congratulatory  speech  before  quitting  us. 
When  he  was  gone,  Captain  Carey  stood  still  until  he  was 
quite  out  of  hearing,  and  then  stretched  out  his  hand 
toward  the  thatched  roof,  yellow  with  stonecrop  and 
lichens. 

"This  is  a  serious  business,  Martin,"  he  said,  looking 
sternly  at  me;   "you  are  in  love  with  that  girl." 

"  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart  and  soul!  "  I  cried. 


144  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

IN    A    FIX. 

YES,  I  loved  Olivia  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  I  had 
not  known  it  myself  till  that  moment;  and  now  I 
acknowledged  it  boldly,  almost  defiantly,  with  a  strange 
mingling  of  delight  and  pain  in  the  confession. 

Yet  the  words  startled  me  as  I  uttered  them.  They 
had  involved  in  them  so  many  unpleasant  consequences,  so 
much  chagrin  and  bitterness  as  their  practical  result,  that 
I  stood  aghast — even  while  my  pulses  throbbed,  and  my 
heart  beat  high,  with  the  novel  rapture  of  loving  any 
woman  as  I  loved  Olivia.  If  I  followed  out  my  avowal 
to  its  just  issue,  I  should  be  a  traitor  to  Julia;  and  all  my 
life  up  to  the  present  moment  would  be  lost  to  me.  I 
had  scarcely  spoken  it  before  I  had  dropped  my  head  on 
my  hands  with  a  groan. 

"  Come,  come,  my  poor  fellow !  "  said  Captain  Carey, 
who  could  never  see  a  dog  with  his  tail  between  his  legs 
without  whistling  to  him  and  patting  him,  "we  must  see 
what  can  be  done." 

It  was  neither  a  time  nor  a  place  for  the  indulgence  of 
emotion  of  any  kind.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  remain 
on  the  cliffs,  bemoaning  my  unhappy  fate.  I  strode  on 
doggedly  down  the  path,  kicking  the  loose  stones  into  the 
water  as  they  came  into  my  way.  Captain  Carey  followed, 
whistling  softly  to  himself,  and  of  all  the  tunes  in  the 
world,  he  chose  the  one  to  the  "  Three  Fishers,"  which  I 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  145 

had  sung  to  Olivia.  He  continued  doing  so  after  we  were 
aboard  the  yacht,  and  I  saw  the  boatmen  exchange  ap- 
prehensive glances. 

"  We  shall  have  wind  enough,  without  whistling  for  it, 
before  we  reach  Guernsey/'  said  one  of  them,  after  a 
while;  and  Captain  Carey  relapsed  into  silence.  We 
scarcely  spoke  again,  except  about  the  shifting  of  the  sails, 
in  our  passage  across.  A  pretty  stiff  breeze  was  blowing, 
and  we  found  plenty  of  occupation. 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  like  this,  Martin,  my  boy,"  said 
Captain  Carey,  when  we  went  ashore  at  St.  Sampson's; 
and  he  put  his  arm  through  mine  affectionately. 

"  You  will  keep  my  secret?  "  I  said — my  voice  a  key  or 
two  lower  than  usual. 

"  Martin,"  answered  the  good-hearted,  clear-sighted  old 
bachelor,  "you  must  not  do  Julia  the  wrong  of  keeping 
this  a  secret  from  her." 

"I  must,"  I  urged.  "Olivia  knows  nothing  of  it;  no- 
body guesses  it  but  you.  I  must  conquer  it.  Things 
have  gone  too  far  with  poor  Julia  for  me  to  back  out  of 
our  marriage  now.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do. 
Think  of  it,  Captain  Carey." 

"But  shall  you  conquer  it?"  asked  Captain  Carey  seri- 
ously. 

I  could  not  answer  yes  frankly  and  freely.  It  seemed 
a  sheer  impossibility  for  me  to  root  out  this  new  love, 
which  I  found  in  my  heart  below  all  the  old  loves  and 
friendships  of  my  whole  life.  Mad  as  I  was  with  myself 
at  the  thought  of  my  folly,  the  folly  was  so  sweet  to  me 
that  I  would  as  soon  have  parted  with  life  itself.  Nothing 
in  the  least  resembling  this  feeling  had  been  a  matter  of 
experience  with  me  before.  I  had  read  of  it  in  poetry 
and  novels,  and  laughed  a  little  at  it;  but  now  it  had 
come  upon  me  like  a  strong  man  armed.  I  quailed  and 
10 


146  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

flinched  before  the  painful  conflict  necessary  to  cast  out 
the  precious  guest. 

"  Martin,"  urged  Captain  Carey,  "come  up  to  Johanna, 
and  tell  her  all  about  it." 

Johanna  Carey  was  one  of  the  powers  in  the  island. 
Everybody  knew  her;  and  everybody  went  to  her  for 
comfort  or  counsel.  She  was,  of  course,  related  to  us  all ; 
and  knew  the  exact  degree  of  relationship  among  us, 
having  the  genealogy  of  each  family  at  her  fingers'  ends. 
But  besides  these  family  histories,  which  were  common 
property,  she  was  also  intrusted  with  the  inmost  secrets 
of  every  household — those  secrets  which  were  the  most 
carefully  and  jealously  guarded.  I  had  always  been  a  fa- 
vorite with  her,  and  nothing  could  be  more  natural  than 
this  proposal  of  her  brother's,  that  I  should  go  and  tell 
her  all  my  dilemma. 

The  house  stood  on  the  border  of  L'Ancresse  Common, 
with  no  view  of  the  sea,  but  with  the  soft,  undulating 
brows  and  hollows  of  the  common  lying  before  it,  and  a 
broken  battlement  of  rocks  rising  beyond  them. 

There  was  always  a  low,  solemn  murmur  of  the  invisible 
sea,  singing  like  a  lullaby  about  the  peaceful  dwelling, 
and  hushing  it  into  a  more  profound  quiet  than  even  utter 
silence;  for  utter  silence  is  irksome  and  fretting  to  the 
ear,  which  needs  some  slight  reverberation  to  keep  the 
brain  behind  it  still.  A  perfume  of  violets,  and  the  more 
dainty  scent  of  primroses,  pervaded  the  garden.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  any  man  should  be  allowed  to  live 
in  such  a  spot;  but  then  Captain  Carey  was  almost  as 
gentle  and  fastidious  as  a  woman. 

Johanna  was  not  unlike  her  home.  There  was  a  repose 
about  her  similar  to  the  calm  of  a  judge,  which  gave  ad- 
ditional weight  to  her  counsels.  The  moment  we  entered 
through  the  gates,  a  certainty  of  comfort  and  help  ap- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  1 47 

peared  to  be  wafted  upon  the  pure  breeze,  floating  across 
the  common  from  the  sea. 

Johanna  was  standing  at  one  of  the  windows  in  a  quaker- 
ish  dress  of  some  gray  stuff,  and  with  a  plain  white  cap 
over  her  white  hair.  She  came  down  to  the  door  as  soon 
as  she  saw  me,  and  received  me  with  a  motherly  kiss, 
which  I  returned  with  more  than  usual  warmth,  as  one 
does  in  any  new  kind  of  trouble.  I  think  she  was  instantly 
aware  that  something  was  amiss  with  me. 

"Is  dinner  ready,  Johanna?"  asked  her  brother;  "we 
are  as  hungry  as  hunters." 

That  was  hot  true  as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  For  the 
first  time  within  my  recollection  my  appetite  quite  failed 
me,  and  I  merely  played  with  my  knife  and  fork. 

Captain  Carey  regarded  me  pitifully,  and  said,  "  Come, 
come,  Martin,  my  boy!  "  several  times. 

Johanna  made  no  remark;  but  her  quiet,  searching 
eyes  looked  me  through  and  through,  till  I  almost  longed 
for  the  time  when  she  would  begin  to  question  and  cross- 
question  me.  After  she  was  gone  Captain  Carey  gave  me 
two  or  three  glasses  of  his  choicest  wine  to  cheer  me  up,  as 
he  said ;  but  we  were  not  long  before  we  followed  his  sister. 

"Johanna,"  said  Captain  Carey,  "we  have  something 
to  tell  you." 

"  Come  and  sit  here  by  me,"  she  said,  making  room  for 
me  beside  her  on  her  sofa ;  for  long  experience  had  taught 
her  how  much  more  difficult  it  is  to  make  a  confession 
face  to  face  with  one's  confessor,  under  the  fire  of  his 
eyes,  as  it  were,  than  when  one  is  partially  concealed 
from  him. 

"Well?"  she  said,  in  her  calm,  inviting  voice. 

"Johanna,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  in  a  terrible  fix! " 

"Awful!"  cried  Captain  Carey  sympathetically;  but  a 
glance  from  his  sister  put  him  to  silence. 


148  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  Martin?  "  asked  her  inviting  voice 
again. 

"  I  will  tell  you  frankly,"  I  said,  feeling  I  must  have  it 
out  at  once,  like  an  aching  tooth.  "  I  love,  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul,  that  girl  in  Sark ;  the  one  who  has  been 
my  patient  there." 

"  Martin !  "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  surprise  and  agita- 
tion, "Martin!" 

"Yes;  I  know  all  you  would  urge.  My  honor;  my 
affection  for  Julia;  the  claims  she  has  upon  me,  the 
strongest  claims  possible ;  how  good  and  worthy  she  is ; 
what  an  impossibility  it  is  even  to  look  back  now.  I 
know  it  all,  and  feel  how  miserably  binding  it  is  upon  me. 
Yet  I  love  Olivia;  and  I  shall  never  love  Julia.' 

"Martin!"  she  cried  again. 

"Listen  to  me,  Johanna,"  I  said,  for  now  the  ice  was 
broken,  my  frozen  words  were  flowing  as  rapidly  as  a  run- 
nel of  water;  "I  used  to  dream  of  a  feeling  something 
like  this  years  ago,  but  no  girl  I  saw  could  kindle  it  into 
a  reality.  I  have  always  esteemed  Julia,  and  when  my 
youth  was  over,  and  I  had  never  felt  any  devouring  pas- 
sion, I  began  to  think  love  was  more  of  a  word  than  a 
fact,  or  to  believe  that  it  had  become  only  a  word  in  these 
cold  late  times.  At  any  rate,  I  concluded  I  was  past  the 
age  for  falling  in  love.  There  was  my  cousin  Julia  cer- 
tainly dearer  to  me  than  any  other  woman,  except  my 
mother.  I  knew  all  her  little  ways ;  and  they  were  not 
annoying  to  me,  or  were  so  in  a  very  small  degree.  Be- 
sides, my  father  had  had  a  grand  passion  for  my  mother, 
and  what  had  that  come  to?  There  would  be  no  such 
white  ashes  of  a  spent  fire  for  Julia  to  shiver  over.  That 
was  how  I  argued  the  matter  out  with  myself.  At  eight- 
and-twenty  I  had  never  lost  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  sleep, 
or  missed  a  meal,  for  the  sake  of  any  girl.     Surely  I  was 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  149 

safe.  It  was  quite  fair  for  me  to  propose  to  Julia,  and 
she  would  be  satisfied  with  the  affection  I  could  offer  her. 
Then  there  was  my  mother;  it  was  the  greatest  happiness 
I  could  give  her,  and  her  life  has  not  been  a  happy  one, 
God  knows.  So  I  proposed  to  Julia,  and  she  accepted 
me  last  Christmas." 

"And  you  are  to  be  married  next  month?*"  said  Johanna, 
in  an  exceedingly  troubled  tone. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  and  now  every  word  Julia  speaks, 
and  everything  she  does,  grates  upon  me.  I  love  her  as 
much  as  ever  as  my  cousin,  but  as  my  wife!  Good 
heavens !  Johanna,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  dread  it." 

"  What  can  be  done?  "  she  exclaimed,  looking  from  me 
to  Captain  Carey,  whose  face  was  as  full  of  dismay  as  her 
own.     But  he  only  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

"Done!  "  I  repeated,  "nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  It 
is  utterly  impossible  to  draw  back.  Our  house  is  nearly 
ready  for  us,  and  even  Julia's  wedding-dress  and  veil  are 
bought." 

"There  is  not  a  house  you  enter,"  said  Johanna  sol- 
emnly, "  where  they  are  not  preparing  a  wedding-present 
for  Julia  and  you.  There  has  not  been  a  marriage  in 
your  district,  among  ourselves,  for  nine  years.  It  is  as 
public  as  a  royal  marriage." 

"  It  must  go  on,"  I  answered,  with  the  calmness  of 
despair.  "  I  am  the  most  good-for-nothing  scoundrel  in 
Guernsey  to  fall  in  love  with  my  patient.  You  need  not 
tell  me  so,  Johanna.  And  yet,  if  I  could  think  that  Olivia 
loved  me,  I  would  not  change  with  the  happiest  man 
alive." 

"  What  is  her  name?  "  asked  Johanna. 

"One  of  the  Olliviers,"  answered  Captain  Carey;  "but 
what  Olliviers  she  belongs  to,  I  don't  know.  She  is  one 
of  the  prettiest  creatures  I  ever  saw." 


150  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"An  Ollivier!  "  exclaimed  Johanna,  in  her  severest  ac- 
cents.    "  Martin,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  " 

"  Her  Christian  name  is  Olivia,"  I  said  hastily ;  "  she  does 
not  belong  to  the  Olliviers  at  all.  It  was  Tardif  s  mistake, 
and  very  natural.      She  was  born  in  Australia,  I  believe." 

"Of  a  good  family,  I  hope?"  asked  Johanna.  "There 
are  some  persons  it  would  be  a  disgrace  to  you  to  love. 
What  is  her  other  name?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered  reluctantly,  but  distinctly. 

Johanna  turned  her  face  full  upon  me  now — a  face 
more  agitated  than  I  had  ever  seen  it.  There  was  no  use 
in  trying  to  keep  back  any  part  of  my  serious  delin- 
quency, so  I  resolved  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

"  I  know  very  little^about  her,"  I  said — '*'  that  is,  about 
her  history;  as  for  herself,  she  is  the  sweetest,  dearest, 
loveliest  girl  in  the  whole  world  to  me.  If  I  were  free, 
and  she  loved  me,  I  should  not  know  what  else  to  wish 
for.  All  I  know  is  that  she  has  run  away  from  her  people ; 
why,  I  have  no  more  idea  than  you  have,  of  who  they  are, 
or  where  they  live ;  and  she  has  been  living  in  Tardif's 
cottage  since  last  October.  It  is  an  infatuation,  do  you 
say?  So  it  is,  I  dare  say.  It  is  an  infatuation;  and  I 
don't  know  that  I  shall  ever  shake  it  off." 

"What  is  she  like?"  asked  Johanna.  "Is  she  very 
merry  and  bright?  " 

"  I  never  saw  her  laugh,"  I  said. 

"Very  melancholy  and  sad,  then?  " 

"  I  never  saw  her  weep,"  I  said. 

"What  is  it  then,  Martin?  "  she  asked  earnestly. 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is,"  I  answered.  "  Everything 
she  does  and  says  has  a  charm  for  me  that  I  could  never 
describe.  With  her  for  my  wife  I  should  be  more  happy 
than  I  ever  was;  with  any  one  else  I  shall  be  wretched. 
That  is  all  I  know." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  151 

I  had  left  my  seat  by  Johanna,  and  was  pacing  to  and 
fro  in  the  room,  too  restless  and  miserable  to  keep  still. 
The  low  moan  of  the  sea  sighed  all  about  the  house.  I 
could  have  cast  myself  on  the  floor  had  I  been  alone  and 
wept  and  sobbed  like  a  woman.  I  could  see  no  loophole 
of  escape  from  the  mesh  of  circumstances  which  caught 
me  in  their  net. 

A  long,  dreary,  colorless,  wretched  life  stretched  before 
me,  with  Julia  my  inseparable  companion,  and  Olivia  al- 
together lost  to  me.  Captain  Carey  and  Johanna,  neither 
of  whom  had  tasted  the  sweets  and  bitters  of  marriage, 
looked  sorrowfully  at  me  and  shook  their  heads. 

"You  must  tell  Julia,"  said  Johanna,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Tell  Julia!"  I  echoed.  "  I  would  not  tell  her  for 
worlds!  " 

"  You  must  tell  her,"  she  repeated ;  "  it  is  your  clear 
duty.  I  know  it  will  be  most  painful  to  you  both,  but 
you  have  no  right  to  marry  her  with  this  secret  on  your 
mind." 

"I  should  be  true  to  her,"  I  interrupted  somewhat 
angrily. 

"What  do  you  call  being  true,  Martin  Dobree?"  she 
asked,  more  calmly  than  she  had  spoken  before.  "  Is  it 
being  true  to  a  woman  to  let  her  believe  you  choose  and 
love  her  above  all  other  women  when  that  is  absolutely 
false?  No;  you  are  too  honorable  for  that.  I  tell  you  it 
is  your  plain  duty  to  let  Julia  know  this,  and  know  it  at 
once." 

"  It  wil-l  break  her  heart,"  I  said,  with  a  sharp  twinge 
of  conscience  and  a  cowardly  shrinkage  from  the  un- 
pleasant duty  urged  upon  me. 

"  It  will  not  break  Julia's  heart,"  said  Johanna  very 
sadly;  "it  may  break  your  mother's." 

I  reeled  as  if  a  sharp  blow  had  struck  me.     I  had  been 


152  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

thinking  far  less  of  my  mother  than  of  Julia;  but  I  saw, 
as  with  a  flash  of  lightning,  what  a  complete  up-rooting 
of  all  her  old  habits  and  long-cherished  hopes  this  would 
prove  to  my  mother,  whose  heart  was  so  set  upon  this 
marriage.  Would  Julia  marry  me  if  she  once  heard  of  my 
unfortunate  love  for  Olivia?  And  if  not,  what  would  be- 
come of  our  home?  My  mother  would  have  to  give  up 
one  of  us,  for  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  she  would  consent 
to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  me,  now  the  happy  tie 
of  cousinship  was  broken,  and  none  dearer  to  be  formed. 

Which  could  my  mother  part  with  best?  Julia  was 
almost  as  much  her  daughter  as  I  was  her  son ;  yet  me 
she  pined  after,  if  ever  I  was  absent  long.  No;  I  could 
not  resolve  to  run  the  risk  of  breaking  that  gentle,  faithful 
heart,  which  loved  me  so  fully.  I  went  back  to  Johanna, 
and  took  her  hand  in  both  of  mine. 

"Keep  my  secret,"  I  said  earnestly,  "you  two.  I  will 
make  Julia  and  my  mother  happy.  Do  not  mistrust  me. 
This  infatuation  overpowered  me  unawares.  I  will  con- 
quer it ;  at  the  worst  I  can  conceal  it.  I  promise  you 
Julia  shall  never  regret  being  my  wife." 

"Martin,"  answered  Johanna  determinedly,  "if  you  do 
not  tell  Julia  I  must  tell  her  myself.  You  say  you  love 
this  other  girl  with  all  your  heart  and  soul." 

"  Yes,  and  that  is  true,"  I  said. 

"  Then  Julia  must  know  before  she  marries  you." 

Nothing  could  move  Johanna  from  that  position,  and 
in  my  heart  I  recognized  its  righteousness.  She  argued 
with  me  that  it  was  Julia's  due  to  hear  it  from  myself.  I 
knew  afterward  that  she  believed  the  sight  of  her  distress 
and  firm  love  for  myself  would  dissipate  the  infatuation 
of  my  love  for  Olivia.  But  she  did  not  read  Julia's  char- 
acter as  well  as  my  mother  did. 

Before  she  let  me  leave  her  I  had  promised  to  have  my 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


'S3 


confession  and  subsequent  explanation  with  Julia  all  over 
the  following  day;  and  to  make  this  the  more  inevitable, 
she  told  me  she  should  drive  into  St.  Peter-port  the  next 
afternoon  about  five  o'clock,  when  she  should  expect  to 
find  this  troublesome  matter  settled,  either  by  a  renewal 
of  my  affection  for  my  betrothed,  or  the  suspension  of  the 
betrothal.  In  the  latter  case  she  promised  to  carry  Julia 
home  with  her  until  the  first  bitterness  was  over. 


154  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A   MIDNIGHT    RIDE. 

I  TOOK  care  not  to  reach  home  before  the  hour  when 
Julia  usually  went  to  bed.  She  had  been  out  in  the 
country  all  day  visiting  the  south  cliffs  of  our  island,  with 
some  acquaintances  from  England  who  were  staying  for 
a  few  days  in  St.  Peter-port.  In  all  probability  she  would 
be  too  tired  to  sit  up  till  my  return  if  I  were  late. 

I  had  calculated  aright.  It  was  after  eleven  o'clock 
when  I  entered,  and  my  mother  only  was  waiting  for  me. 
I  wished  to  avoid  any  confidential  chat  that  evening,  and 
after  answering  briefly  her  fond  inquiries  as  to  what  could 
have  kept  me  out  so  late,  I  took  myself  off  to  my  own 
room. 

But  it  was  quite  vain  to  think  of  sleep  that  night.  I 
had  soon  worked  myself  up  into  that  state  of  nervous, 
restless  agitation,  when  one  cannot  remain  quietly  in  one 
room.     I  attempted  to  conquer  it,  but  I  could  not. 

The  moon,  which  was  at  the  full,  was  shining  out  of  a 
cloudless  field  of  sky  upon  my  window.  I  longed  for  fresh 
air,  and  freedom,  and  motion;  for  a  distance  between 
myself  and  my  dear  old  home — that  home  which  I  was 
about  to  plunge  into  troubled  waters.  The  peacefulness 
oppressed  me. 

About  one  o'clock  I  opened  my  door  as  softly  as  possi- 
ble, and  stole  silently  down-stairs — but  not  so  silently  that 
my  mother's  quick  ear  did  not  catch  the  slight  jarring  of 
my  door. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  155 

The  night-bell  hung  in  my  room,  and  occasionally  I  was 
summoned  away  at  hours  like  this  to  visit  a  patient.  She 
called  to  me  as  I  crept  down  the  stairs. 

"  Martin,  what  is  the  matter?  "  she  whispered  over  the 
banisters. 

"  Nothing,  mother;  nothing  much,"  I  answered.  "I 
shall  be  home  again  in  an  hour  or  two.  Go  to  bed,  and 
go  to  sleep.     Whatever  makes  you  so  thin-eared?  " 

"Are  you  going  to  take  Madam  ?  "  she  asked,  seeing  my 
whip  in  my  hand.     "  Shall  I  ring  up  Pellet?  " 

"  No,  no!"  I  said ;  "  I  can  manage  well  enough.  Good- 
night again,  my  darling  old  mother." 

Her  pale,  worn  face  smiled  down  upon  me  very  tenderly 
as  she  kissed  her  hand  to  me.  I  stood,  as  if  spell-bound, 
watching  her,  and  she  watching  me,  until  both  laughed, 
though  somewhat  falteringly. 

"  How  romantic  you  are,  my  boy!  "  she  said,  in  a  trem- 
ulous voice. 

"  I  shall  not  stir  till  you  go  back  to  bed,"  I  answered 
peremptorily;  and  as  just  then  we  heard  my  father  calling 
out  fretfully  to  ask  why  the  door  was  open,  and  what  was 
going  on  in  the  house,  she  disappeared,  and  I  went  on  my 
way  to  the  stables. 

Madam  was  my  favorite  mare,  first-rate  at  a  gallop  when 
she  was  in  good  temper,  but  apt  to  turn  vicious  now  and 
then.  She  was  in  good  temper  to-night,  and  pricked  up 
her  ears  and  whinnied  when  I  unlocked  the  stable  door. 
In  a  few  minutes  we  were  going  up  the  Grange  Road  at  a 
moderate  pace  till  we  reached  the  open  country,  and  the 
long,  white,  dusty  roads  stretched  before  us,  glimmering 
in  the  moonlight.  I  turned  for  St.  Martin's,  and  Madam, 
at  the  first  touch  of  my  whip  on  her  flanks,  started  off  at 
a  long  and  steady  gallop. 

It  was  a  cool,  quiet  night  in  May.     A  few  of  the  larger 


156  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

fixed  stars  twinkled  palely  in  the  sky,  but  the  smaller  ones 
were  drowned  in  the  full  moonlight.  The  largest  of  them 
shone  solemnly  and  brightly  in  a  field  of  golden  green  just 
above  the  spot  where  the  sun  had'set  hours  before.  The 
trees,  standing  out  with  a  blackness  and  distinctness  never 
seen  by  day,  appeared  to  watch  for  me,  and  look  after  me 
as  I  rode  along,  forming  an  avenue  of  silent  but  very 
stately  spectators;  and  to  my  fancy,  for  my  fancy  was 
highly  excited  that  night,  the  rustling  of  the  young  leaves 
upon  them  whispered  the  name  of  Olivia.  The  hoof- 
beats  of  my  mare's  feet  upon  the  hard  roads  echoed  the 
name  Olivia,  Olivia! 

By-and-by  I  turned  off  the  road  to  get  nearer  the  sea, 
and  rode  along  sandy  lanes,  with  banks  of  turf  instead  of 
hedge-rows,  which  were  covered  thickly  with  pale  prim- 
roses, shining  with  the  same  hue  as  the  moon  above  them. 
As  I  passed  the  scattered  cottages,  here  and  there  a  dog 
yapped  a  shrill,  snarling  bark,  and  woke  the  birds,  till  they 
gave  a  sleepy  twitter  in  their  new  nests. 

Now  and  then  I  came  in  full  sight  of  the  sea,  glittering 
in  the  silvery  light.  I  crossed  the  head  of  a  gorge,  and 
stopped  for  a  while  to  gaze  down  it,  till  my  flesh  crept.  It 
was  not  more  than  a  few  yards  in  breadth,  but  it  was  of 
unknown  depth,  and  the  rocks  stood  above  it  with  a  thick, 
heavy  blackness.  The  tide  was  rushing  into  its  narrow 
channel  with  a  thunder  which  throbbed  like  a  pulse ;  yet 
in  the  intervals  of  its  pulsation  I  could  catch  the  thin, 
prattling  tinkle  of  a  brook  running  merrily  down  the  gorge 
to  plunge  headlong  into  the  sea.  Round  every  spar  of 
the  crags,  and  over  every  islet  of  rock,  the  foam  played 
ceaselessly,  breaking  over  them  like  drifts  of  snow,  for- 
ever melting,  and  forever  forming  again. 

I  kept  on  my  way,  as  near  the  sea  as  I  could,  past  the 
sleeping  cottages  and  hamlets,  round  through  St.  Pierre 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  157 

dii  Bois  and  Torteval,  with  the  gleaming  light -houses  out 
on  the  Hanways,  and  by  Rocquaine  Bay,  and  Vazon  Bay, 
and  through  the  vale  to  Captain  Carey's  peaceful  house, 
where,  perhaps,  to-morrow  night — nay,  this  day's  night — 
Julia  might  be  weeping  and  wailing  broken-hearted. 

I  had  made  the  circuit  of  our  island — a  place  so  dear 
to  me  that  it  seemed  scarcely  possible  to  live  elsewhere ; 
yet  I  should  be  forced  to  live  elsewhere.  I  knew  that 
with  a  clear  distinctness.  There  could  be  no  home  for 
me  in  Guernsey  when  my  conduct  toward  Julia  should 
become  known. 

But  now  Sark,  which  had  been  behind  me  all  my  ride, 
lay  full  in  sight,  and  the  eastern  sky  behind  it  began  to 
quicken  with  a  new  light.  The  gulls  were  rousing  them- 
selves, and  flying  out  to  sea,  with  their  plaintive  cries; 
and  the  larks  were  singing  their  first  sleepy  notes  to  the 
coming  day. 

As  the  sun  rose,  Sark  looked  very  near,  and  the  sea,  a 
plain  of  silvery  blue,  seemed  solid  and  firm  enough  to 
afford  me  a  road  across  to  it.  A  white  mist  lay  like  a 
huge  snow-drift  in  hazy,  broad  curves  over  the  Havre 
Gosselin,  with  sharp  peaks  of  cliffs  piercing  through. 

Olivia  was  sleeping  yonder  behind  that  veil  of  shining 
mist ;  and  dear  as  Guernsey  was  to  me,  she  was  a  hundred- 
fold dearer. 

But  my  night's  ride  had  not  made  my  day's  task  any 
easier  for  me.  No  new  light  had  dawned  upon  my  diffi- 
culty. There  was  no  loop-hole  for  me  to  escape  from 
the  most  painful  and  perplexing  strait  I  had  ever  been  in. 
How  was  I  to  break  it  to  Julia?  and  when?  It  was 
quite  plain  to  me  that  the  sooner  it  was  over  the  better  it 
would  be  for  myself,  and  perhaps  the  better  for  her.  How 
was  I  to  go  through  my  morning's  calls  in  the  state  of 
nervous  anxiety  I  found  myself  in? 


158 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


I  resolved  to  have  it  over  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  fin- 
ished, and  my  father  had  gone  to  make  his  profession: 
toilet,  a  lengthy  and  important  duty  with  him.  Yet  whei 
breakfast  came  I  was  listening  intently  for  some  sui 
mons,  which  would  give  me  an  hour's  grace  from  fulfilling 
my  own  determination.  I  prolonged  my  meal,  keeping 
my  mother  in  her  place  at  the  table ;  for  she  had  never 
given  up  her  office  of  pouring  out  my  tea  and  coffee. 

I  finished  at  last,  and  still  no  urgent  message  had  com< 
for  me.  My  mother  left  us  together  alone,  as  her  custoi 
was,  for  what  time  I  had  to  spare — a  variable  quantit) 
always  with  me. 

Now  was  the  dreaded  moment.  But  how  was  I  to  be- 
gin? Julia  was  so  calm  and  unsuspecting.  In  what  words 
could  I  convey  my  fatal  meaning  most  gently  to  her?  M; 
head  throbbed,  and  I  could  not  raise  my  eyes  to  her  face. 
Yet  it  must  be  done. 

"  Dear  Julia,"  I  said,  in  as  firm  a  voice  as  I  could  com- 
mand. 

"  Yes,  Martin." 

But  just  then  Grace,  the  housemaid,  knocked  emphati- 
cally at  the  door,  and  after  a  due  pause  entered  with 
smiling,  significant  face,  yet  with  an  apologetic  courtesy. 

"  If  you  please,  Dr.  Martin,"  she  said,  "  I'm  very  sorry, 
but  Mrs.  Lihou's  baby  is  taken  with  convulsion  fits ;  an< 
they  want  you  to  go  as  fast  as  ever  you  can,  please,  sir." 

Was  I  sorry  or  glad?  I  could  not  tell.  It  was  a  re- 
prieve ;  but  then  I  knew  positively  it  was  nothing  more 
than  a  reprieve.  The  sentence  must  be  executed.  Julia 
came  to  me,  bent  her  cheek  toward  me,  and  I  kissed  it. 
That  was  our  usual  salutation  when  our  morning's  inter- 
view was  ended. 

"  I  am  going  down  to  the  new  house,"  she  said.  "  I 
lost  a  good  deal  of  time  yesterday,  and  I  must  make  up 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  159 

for  it  to-day.  Shall  you  be  passing  by  at  any  time,  Mar- 
tin?" 

"Yes — no — I  cannot  tell  exactly,"  I  stammered. 

"  If  you  are  passing,  come  in  for  a  few  minutes,"  she 
answered ;  "  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  speak  to  you 
about." 

"Shall  you  come  in  to  lunch?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  I  shall  take  something  with  me,"  she  replied;  "it 
hinders  so,  coming  back  here." 

I  was  not  overworked  that  morning.  The  convulsions 
of  Mrs.  Lihou's  baby  were  not  at  all  serious;  and,  as  I 
have  before  stated,  the  practice  which  my  father  and  I 
shared  between  us  was  a  very  limited  one.  My  part  of  it 
naturally  fell  among  our  poorer  patients,  who  did  not  ex- 
pect me  to  waste  their  time  and  my  own,  by  making  nu- 
merous or  prolonged  visits.  So  I  had  plenty  of  time  to 
call  upon  Julia  at  the  new  house ;  but  I  could  not  summon 
sufficient  courage.  The  morning  slipped  away  while  I 
was  loitering  about  Fort  George,  and  chatting  carelessly 
with  the  officers  quartered  there. 

I  went  to  lunch,  pretty  sure  of  finding  no  one  but  my 
mother  at  home.  There  was  no  fear  of  losing  her  love, 
if  every  other  friend  turned  me  the  cold  shoulder,  as  I 
was  morally  certain  they  would,  with  no  blame  to  them- 
selves. But  the  very  depth  and  constancy  of  her  affection 
made  it  the  more  difficult  and  the  more  terrible  for  me  to 
wound  her.  She  had  endured  so  much,  poor  mother! 
and  was  looking  so  wan  and  pale.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
Johanna's  threat,  I  should  have  resolved  to  say  nothing 
about  Olivia,  and  to  run  my  chance  of  matrimonial  happi- 
ness. 

What  a  cruel  turn  fate  had  done  me  when  it  sent  me 
across  the  sea  to  Sark  ten  weeks  ago! 

My  mother  was  full  of  melancholy  merriment  that  morn- 


160  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

ing,  making  pathetic  little  jokes  about  Julia  and  me,  and 
laughing  at  them  heartily  herself — short  bursts  of  laughter 
which  left  her  paler  than  she  had  been  before. 

I  tried  to  laugh  myself  in  order  to  encourage  her  brief 
playfulness,  though  the  effort  almost  choked  me.  Before 
I  went  out  again,  I  sat  beside  her  a  few  minutes,  with  my 
head,  which  ached  awfully  by  this  time,  resting  on  her 
dear  shoulder. 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "you  are  very  fond  of  Julia?  " 

"  I  love  her  just  the  same  as  if  she  were  my  own 
daughter,  Martin — as  she  will  be  soon,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  you  love  her  as  much  as  me?  "   I  asked. 

"Jealous  boy!"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  my  hot 
forehead,  "no,  not  half  as  much;  not  a  quarter,  not  a 
tenth  part  as  much!     Does  that  content  you?  " 

"Suppose  something  should  prevent  our  marriage?"  I 
suggested. 

"  But  nothing  can,"  she  interrupted ;  "  and  O  Martin, 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  happy  with  Julia.*' 

I  said  no  more,  for  I  did  not  dare  to  tell  her  yet ;  but 
I  wished  I  had  spoken  to  her  about  Olivia,  instead  of  hid- 
ing her  name,  and  all  belonging  to  her,  in  my  inmost  heart. 
My  mother  would  know  all  quite  soon  enough,  unless 
Julia  and  I  agreed  to  keep  it  secret,  and  let  things  go  on 
as  they  were. 

If  Julia  said  she  would  marry  me,  knowing  that  I  was 
heart  and  soul  in  love  with  another  woman,  why,  then  I 
would  go  through  with  it,  and  my  mother  need  never  hear 
a  word  about  my  dilemma. 

Julia  must  decide  my  lot.  My  honor  was  pledged  to 
her ;  and  if  she  insisted  upon  the  fulfilment  of  my  engage- 
ment to  her,  well,  of  course  I  would  fulfil  it. 

I  went  down  reluctantly  at  length  to  the  new  house ; 
but  it  was  at  almost  the  last  hour.     The  church  clocks 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  161 

had  already  struck  four ;  and  I  knew  Johanna  would  be 
true  to  her  time,  and  drive  up  the  Grange  at  five.  I  left 
a  message  with  my  mother  for  her,  telling  her  where  she 
would  find  Julia  and  me.  Then  doggedly,  but  sick  at 
heart  with  myself  and  all  the  world,  I  went  down  to  meet 
my  doom. 

It  was  getting  into  nice  order,  this  new  house  of  ours. 
We  had  had  six  months  to  prepare  it  in,  and  to  fit  it  up 
exactly  to  our  minds ;  and  it  was  as  near  my  ideal  of  a 
pleasant  home  as  our  conflicting  tastes  permitted.  Per- 
haps this  was  the  last  time  I  should  cross  its  threshold. 
There  was  a  pang  in  the  thought. 

This  was  my  position :  If  Julia  listened  to  my  avowal 
angrily,  and  renounced  me  indignantly,  passionately,  I  lost 
fortune,  position,  profession ;  my  home  and  friends,  with 
the  sole  exception  of  my  mother.  I  should  be  regarded 
alternately  as  a  dupe  and  a  scoundrel.  Guernsey  would 
become  too  hot  to  hold  me,  and  I  should  be  forced  to  fol- 
low my  luck  in  some  foreign  land.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
Julia  clung  to  me,  and  would  not  give  me  up,  trusting  to 
time  to  change  my  feelings,  then  I  lost  Olivia ;  and  to  lose 
her  seemed  the  worse  fate  of  the  two. 

Julia  was  sitting  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  which  over- 
looked the  harbor  and  the  group  of  islands  across  the 
channel.  There  was  no  fear  of  interruption ;  no  callers 
to  ring  the  bell  and  break  in  upon  our  tete-a-tete.  It  was 
an  understood  thing  that  at  present  only  Julia's  most  inti- 
mate friends  had  been  admitted  into  our  new  house,  and 
then  by  special  invitation  alone. 

There  was  a  very  happy,  very  placid  expression  on  her 
face.  Every  harsh  line  seemed  softened,  and  a  pleased 
smile  played  about  her  lips.  Her  dress  was  one  of  those 
simple,  fresh,  clean  muslin  gowns,  with  knots  of  ribbon 
about  it,  which  make  a  plain  woman  almost  pretty,  and  a 


162  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

pretty  woman  bewitching.  Her  dark  hair  looked  less 
prim  and  neat  than  usual.  She  pretended  not  to  hear  me 
open  the  door ;  but  as  I  stood  still  at  the  threshold  gazing 
at  her,  she  lifted  up  her  head,  with  a  very  pleasant  smile. 
"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  come,  my  dear  Martin,"  she 
said  softly. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  163 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A    LONG    HALF-HOUR. 

1  DARED  not  dally  another  moment.  I  must  take  my 
plunge  at  once  into  the  icy-cold  waters. 

"  I  have  something  of  importance  to  say  to  you,  dear 
cousin,"  I  began. 

"  So  have  I,"  she  said  gayly ;  "  a  thousand  things,  as  I 
told  you  this  morning,  sir,  though  you  are  so  late  in  com- 
ing to  hear  them.  See,  I  have  been  making  a  list  of  a  few 
commissions  for  you  to  do  in  London.  They  are  such  as 
I  can  trust  to  you ;  but  for  plate,  and  glass,  and  china,  I 
think  we  had  better  wait  till  we  return  from  Switzerland. 
We  are  sure  to  come  home  through  London." 

Her  eyes  ran  over  a  paper  she  was  holding  in  her  hand ; 
while  I  stood  opposite  to  her,  not  knowing  what  to  do 
with  myself,  and  feeling  the  guiltiest  wretch  alive. 

"Cannot  you  find  a  seat?  "  she  asked,  after  a  short  si- 
lence. 

I  sat  down  on  the  broad  window-sill,  instead  of  on  the 
chair  close  to  hers.  She  looked  up  at  that,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  me  keeniy.  I  had  often  quailed  before  Julia's 
gaze  as  a  boy,  but  never  as  I  did  now. 

"Well!  what  is  it?"  she  asked  curtly.  The  incisive- 
ness  of  her  tone  brought  life  into  me,  as  a  probe  some- 
times brings  a  patient  out  of  stupor. 

"  Julia,"  I  said, "  are  you  quite  sure  you  love  me  enough 
to  be  happy  with  me  as  my  wife?  " 

She  opened  her  eyes  very  widely,  and  arched  her  eye- 


164  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

brows  at  the  question,  laughed  a  little,  and  then  drooped 
her  head  over  the  work  in  her  hands. 

"Think  of  it  well,  Julia,''  I  urged. 

"  I  know  you  well  enough  to  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is 
long  with  you,"  she  replied,  the  color  rushing  to  her  face. 
"  I  have  no  vocation  for  a  single  life,  such  as  so  many  of 
the  girls  here  have  to  make  up  their  minds  to.  I  should 
hate  to  have  nothing  to  do  and  nobody  to  care  for.  Every 
night  and  morning  I  thank  God  that  he  has  ordained  an- 
other life  for  me.     He  knows  how  I  love  you,  Martin." 

What  was  I  to  say  to  this?  How  was  I  to  set  my  foot 
down  to  crush  this  blooming  happiness  of  hers? 

"  You  do  not  often  look  as  if  you  loved  me,"  I  said  at 
last. 

"  That  is  only  my  way,"  she  answered.  "  I  can't  be 
soft  and  purring  like  many  women.  I  don't  care  to  be 
always  kissing  and  hanging  about  anybody.  But  if  you 
are  afraid  I  don't  love  you  enough — well!  I  will  ask  you 
what  you  think  in  ten  years'  time." 

"  What  would  you  say  if  I  told  3rou  I  had  once  loved  a 
girl  better  than  I  do  you?  "   I  asked. 

"  That's  not  true,"  she  said  sharply.  "  I've  known  you 
all  your  life,  and  you  could  not  hide  such  a  thing  from  your 
mother  and  me.     You  are  only  laughing  at  me,  Martin." 

"  Heaven  knows  I'm  not  laughing,"  I  answered  sol- 
emnly ;  "  it's  no  laughing  matter.  Julia,  there  is  a  girl  I 
love  better  than  you,  even  now." 

The  color  and  the  smile  faded  out  of  her  face,  leaving 
it  ashy  pale.  Her  lips  parted  once  or  twice,  but  her  voice 
failed  her.  Then  she  broke  out  into  a  short  hysterical 
laugh.  * 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,  dear  Martin,"  she  gasped; 
"  you  ought  not !  I  am  not  very  strong.  Get  me  a  glass 
of  water." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  165 

I  fetched  a  glass  of  water  from  the  kitchen;  for  the 
servant,  who  had  been  at  work,  had  gone  home,  and  we 
were  quite  alone  in  the  house.  When  I  returned  her  face 
was  still  working  with  nervous  twitchings. 

"Martin,  you  ought  not!  "  she  repeated,  after  she  had 
swallowed  some  water.     "  Tell  me  it  is  a  joke  directly." 

"I  cannot,"  I  replied,  painfully  and  sorrowfully;  "it  is 
the  truth,  though  I  would  almost  rather  face  death  than 
own  it.  I  love  you  dearly,  Julia;  but  I  love  another 
woman  better.     God  help  us  both!  " 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  room  after  these  words. 
I  could  not  hear  Julia  breathe  or  move,  and  I  could  not 
look  at  her.  My  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  window  and 
the  islands  across  the  sea,  purple  and  hazy  in  the  distance. 

"  Leave  me ! "  she  said,  after  a  very  long  stillness. 
"Go  away,  Martin." 

"I  cannot  leave  you  alone,"  I  exclaimed;  "no,  I  will 
not,  Julia.  Let  me  tell  you  more ;  let  me  explain  it  all. 
You  ought  to  know  everything  now." 

"Go  away!  "  she  repeated,  in  a  slow,  mechanical  tone. 

I  hesitated  still,  seeing  her  white  and  trembling,  with 
her  eyes  glassy  and  fixed.  But  she  motioned  me  from  her 
toward  the  door,  and  her  pale  lips  parted  again  to  reiterate 
her  command. 

How  I  crossed  that  room  I  do  not  know;  but  the  mo- 
ment after  I  had  closed  the  door  I  heard  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock.  I  dared  not  quit  the  house  and  leave  her  alone 
in  such  a  state ;  and  I  longed  ardently  to  hear  the  clocks 
chime  five,  and  the  sound  of  Johanna's  wheels  on  the 
roughly  paved  street.  She  could  not  be  here  yet  for  a 
full  half-hour,  for  she  had  to  go  up  to  our  house  in  the 
Grange  Road  and  come  back  again.  What  if  Julia  should 
have  fainted,  or  be  dead? 

That  was  one   of  the    longest   half-hours  in    my   life. 


1 66  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  stood  at  the  street-door  watching  and  waiting,  and  nod- 
ding to  people  who  passed  by,  and  who  simpered  at  me  in 
the  most  insane  fashion. 

The  fools!  I  called  them  to  myself.  At  length  Johanna 
turned  the  corner,  and  her  pony-carriage  came  rattling 
cheerfully  over  the  large  stones.     I  ran  to  meet  her. 

"  For  heaven's  sake  go  to  Julia,"  I  cried.  "  I  have  told 
her." 

"And  what  does  she  say?  "  asked  Johanna. 

"  Not  a  word,  not  a  syllable,"  I  replied,  "  except  to  bid 
me  go  away.  She  has  locked  herself  into  the  drawing- 
room." 

"  Then  you  had  better  go  away  altogether,"  she  said, 
"  and  leave  me  to  deal  with  her.  Don't  come  in,  and  then 
I  can  say  you  are  not  here." 

A  friend  of  mine  lived  in  the  opposite  house,  and  though 
I  knew  he  was  not  at  home,  I  knocked  at  his  door  and 
asked  permission  to  sit  for  a  while  in  his  parlor. 

The  windows  looked  into  the  street,  and  there  I  sat 
watching  the  door  of  our  new  house,  for  Johanna  and  Julia 
to  come  out.  No  man  likes  to  be  ordered  out  of  sight,  as 
if  he  were  a  vagabond  or  a  criminal,  and  I  felt  myself 
aggrieved  and  miserable. 

At  length  the  door  opposite  opened,  and  Julia  appeared, 
her  face  completely  hidden  behind  a  veil.  Johanna 
helped  her  into  the  low  carriage,  as  if  she  had  been  an 
invalid,  and  paid  her  those  minute  trivial  attentions  which 
one  woman  showers  upon  another  when  she  is  in  great 
grief.    Then  they  drove  off,  and  were  soon  out  of  my  sight. 

By  this  time  our  dinner  hour  was  near,  and  I  knew  my 
mother  would  be  looking  out  for  us  both.  I  was  thankful 
to  find  at  the  table  a  visitor,  who  had  dropped  in  unex- 
pectedly: one  of  my  father's  patients — a  widow,  with  a 
high  color,  a  loud  voice,  and  boisterous  spirits,  who  kept 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  167 

up  a  rattle  of  conversation  with  Dr.  Dobree.  My  mother 
glanced  anxiously  at  me  very  often,  but  she  could  say 
little. 

"Where  is  Julia?  "  she  had  inquired,  as  we  sat  down  to 
dinner  without  her. 

"Julia?"  I  said  absently;  "oh,  she  is  gone  to  the 
Vale,  with  Johanna  Carey." 

"Will  she  come  back  to-night?  "  asked  my  mother. 

"  Not  to-night,"  I  said  aloud ;  but  to  myself  I  added, 
"not  for  many  nights  to  come;  never,  most  probably, 
while  I  am  under  this  roof.  We  have  been  building  our 
house  upon  the  sand,  and  the  floods  have  come,  and  the 
winds  have  blown,  and  the  house  has  fallen;  but  my 
mother  knows  nothing  of  the  catastrophe  yet." 

If  it  were  possible  to  keep  her  ignorant  of  it!  But  that 
could  not  be.  She  read  trouble  in  my  face,  as  clearly  as 
one  sees  a  thunder-cloud  in  the  sky,  and  she  could  not  rest 
till  she  had  fathomed  it.  After  she  and  our  guest  had  left 
us,  my  father  lingered  only  a  few  minutes.  He  was  not 
a  man  that  cared  for  drinking  much  wine,  with  no  compan- 
ion but  me,  and  he  soon  pushed  the  decanters  from  him. 

"  You  are  as  dull  as  a  beetle  to-night,  Martin,"  he  said. 
"  I  think  I  will  go  and  see  how  your  mother  and*  Mrs. 
Murray  get  along  together." 

He  went  his  way,  and  I  went  mine — up  into  my  own 
room,  where  I  should  be  alone  to  think  over  things.  It 
was  a  pleasant  room,  and  had  been  mine  from  my  boy- 
hood. There  were  some  ugly  old  pictures  still  hanging 
against  the  walls,  which  I  could  not  find  in  my  heart  to 
take  down.  The  model  of  a  ship  I  had  carved  with  my 
penknife,  the  sails  of  which  had  been  made  by  Julia, 
occupied  the  top  shelf  over  my  books.  The  first  pistol  I 
had  ever  possessed  lay  on  the  same  shelf.  It  was  my  own 
den,  my  nest,  my  sanctuary,  my  home  within  the  home. 


1 68  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  could  not  think  of  myself  being  quite  at  home  anywhere 
else. 

Of  late  I  had  been  awakened  in  the  night  two  or  three 
times,  and  found  my  mother  standing  at  my  bedside,  with 
her  thin,  transparent  fingers  shading  the  light  from  my 
eyes.  When  I  remonstrated  with  her  she  had  kissed  me, 
smoothed  the  clothes  about  me,  and  promised  meekly  to 
go  back  to  bed.  Did  she  visit  me  every  night?  and  would 
there  come  a  time  when  she  could  not  visit  me? 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  169 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


BROKEN    OFF. 


AS  I  asked  myself  this  question,  with  an  unerring  pre- 
monition that  the  time  would  soon  come  when  my 
mother  and  I  would  be  separated,  I  heard  her  tapping 
lightly  at  the  door.  She  was  not  in  the  habit  of  leaving 
her  guests,  and  I  was  surprised  and  perplexed  at  seeing 
her. 

"  Your  father  and  Mrs.  Murray  are  having  a  game  of 
chess,1'  she  said,  answering  my  look  of  astonishment. 
"  We  can  be  alone  together  half  an  hour.  And  now  tell 
me  what  is  the  matter?  There  is  something  going  wrong 
with  you." 

She  sank  down  weariedly  into  a  chair,  and  I  knelt  down 
beside  her.  It  was  almost  harder  to  tell  her  than  to  tell 
Julia;  but  it  was  worse  than  useless  to  put  off  the  evil 
moment.  Better  for  her  to  hear  all  from  me  before  a 
whisper  reached  her  from  any  one  else. 

"Johanna  came  here,"  she  continued,  "with  a  face  as 
grave  as  a  judge,  and  asked  for  Julia  in  a  melancholy 
voice.     Has  there  been  any  quarrel  between  you  two?  " 

She  was  accustomed  to  our  small  quarrels,  and  to  set- 
ting them  right  again ;  for  we  were  prone  to  quarrel  in  a 
cousinly  fashion,  without  much  real  bitterness  on  either 
side,  but  with  such  an  intimate  and  irritating  knowledge 
of  each  other's  weak  points,  that  we  needed  a  peace-maker 
at  hand. 

"  Mother,  I  am  not  going  to  marry  my  cousin  Julia,"  I 
said. 


170  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  So  I  have  heard  before,''  she  answered,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  Come,  come,  Martin !  it  is  too  late  to  talk  boyish 
nonsense  like  this." 

"  But  I  love  somebody  else,"  I  said  warmly,  for  my  heart 
throbbed  at  the  thought  of  Olivia;  "and  I  told  Julia  so 
this  afternoon.     It  is  broken  off  for  good  now,  mother." 

She  gave  me  no  answer,  and  I  looked  up  into  her  dear 
face  in  alarm.  It  had  grown  rigid,  and  a  peculiar  blue 
tinge  of  pallor  was  spreading  over  it.  Her  head  had  fallen 
back  against  the  chair.  I  had  never  seen  her  look  so 
death-like  in  any  of  her  illnesses,  and  I  sprang  to  my  feet 
in  terror.  She  stopped  me  by  a  slight  convulsive  pressure 
of  her  hand,  as  I  was  about  to  unfasten  her  brooch  and 
open  her  dress  to  give  her  air. 

"  No,  Martin,"  she  whispered,  "  I  shall  be  better  in  a 
moment." 

But  it  was  several  minutes  before  she  breathed  freely 
and  naturally,  or  could  lift  up  her  head.  Then  she  did 
not  look  at  me,  but  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  the  pale  evening 
sky,  and  her  lips  quivered  with  agitation. 

"Martin,  it  will  be  the  death  of  me,"  she  said;  and  a 
few  tears  stole  down  her  cheeks,  which  I  wiped  away. 

"  It  shall  not  be  the  death  of  you,"  I  exclaimed.  "  If 
Julia  is  willing  to  marry  me,  knowing  the  whole  truth,  I 
am  ready  to  marry  her  for  your  sake,  mother.  I  would 
do  anything  for  your  sake.  But  Johanna  said  she  ought 
to  be  told,  and  I  think  it  was  right  myself." 

"  Who  is  it,  who  can  it  be  that  you  love?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "  I  wish  I  had  told  you  before,  but  I 
did  not  know  that  I  loved  the  girl  as  I  do,  till  I  saw 
her  yesterday  in  Sark,  and  Captain  Carey  charged  me 
with  it." 

"That  girl!"  she  cried.  "One  of  the  Olliviers!  O 
Martin,  you  must  marry  in  your  own  class." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  171 

"  That  was  a  mistake,"  I  answered.  "  Her  Christian 
name  is  Olivia;  I  do  not  know  what  her  surname  is." 

"Not  know  even  her  name!  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Listen,  mother,"  I  said;  and  then  I  told  her  all  I  knew 
about  Olivia,  and  drew  such  a  picture  of  her  as  I  had 
seen  her,  as  made  my  mother  smile  and  sigh  deeply  in 
turns. 

"  But  she  may  be  an  adventuress ;  you  know  nothing 
about  her,"  she  objected.  "Surely  you  cannot  love  a 
woman  you  do  not  esteem?  " 

"  Esteem !  "  I  repeated.  "  I  never  thought  whether  I 
esteemed  Olivia,  but  I  am  satisfied  I  love  her.  You  may 
be  quite  sure  she  is  no  adventuress.  An  adventuress 
would  not  hide  herself  in  Tardif's  out-of-the-world  cottage." 

"A  girl  without  friends  and  without  a  name!"  she 
sighed ;  "  a  runaway  from  her  family  and  home !  It  does 
not  look  well,  Martin." 

I  could  answer  nothing,  and  it  would  be  of  little  use  to 
try.  I  saw  when  my  mother's  prejudices  would  blind 
her.  To  love  any  one  not  of  our  own  caste  was  a  fatal 
error  in  her  eyes. 

"  Does  Julia  know  all  this?  "  she  asked. 

"She  has  not  heard  a  word  about  Olivia,"  I  answered. 
"  As  soon  as  I  told  her  I  loved  some  one  else  better 
than  her,  she  bade  me  begone  out  of  her  sight.  She  has 
not  an  amiable  temper." 

"  But  she  is  an  upright,  conscientious,  religious  woman," 
she  said  somewhat  angrily.  "  She  would  never  have  run 
away  from  her  friends;  and  we  know  all  about  her.  I 
cannot  think  what  your  father  will  say,  Martin.  It  has 
given  him  more  pleasure  and  satisfaction  than  anything 
that  has  happened  for  years.  If  this  marriage  is  broken 
off,  it  upsets  everything." 

Of  course  it  would  upset  everything ;  there  was  the  mis- 


172  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

chief  of  it.  The  convulsion  would  be  so  great,  that  I  felt 
ready  to  marry  Julia  in  order  to  avoid  it,  supposing  she 
would  marry  me.  That  was  the  question,  and  it  rested 
solely  with  her.  I  would  almost  rather  face  the  long,  slow 
weariness  of  an  unsuitable  marriage  than  encounter  the 
immediate  results  of  the  breaking  off  of  our  engagement 
just  on  the  eve  of  its  consummation.  I  was  a  coward,  no 
doubt,  but  events  had  hurried  me  on  too  rapidly  for  me 
to  stand  still  and  consider  the  cost. 

"O  Martin,  Martin!"  wailed  my  poor  mother,  break- 
ing down  again  suddenly.  "  I  had  so  set  my  heart  upon 
this !  I  did  so  long  to  see  you  in  a  home  of  your  own ! 
And  Julia  was  so  generous,  never  looking  as  if  all  the 
money  was  hers,  and  you  without  a  penny!  What  is  to 
become  of  you  now,  my  boy?  I  wish  I  had  been  dead 
and  in  my  grave  before  this  had  happened!  " 

"  Hush,  mother!  "  I  said,  kneeling  down  again  beside 
her  and  kissing  her  tenderly;  "it  is  still  in  Julia's  hands. 
If  she  will  marry  me,  I  shall  marry  her." 

"But  then  you  will  not  be  happy!"  she  said,  with 
fresh  sobs. 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  contradict  that.  I  felt  that 
no  misery  would  be  equal  to  that  of  losing  Olivia.  But  I 
did  my  best  to  comfort  my  mother  by  promising  to  see 
Julia  the  next  day  and  renew  my  engagement,  if  possible. 

"  Pray,  may  I  be  informed  as  to  what  is  the  matter 
now?"  broke  in  a  satirical,  cutting  voice— the  voice  of 
my  father.  It  roused  us  both — my  mother  to  her  usual 
mood  of  gentle  submission,  and  me  to  the  chronic  state 
of  irritation  which  his  presence  always  provoked  in  me. 

"Not  much,  sir,"  I  answered  coldly;  "only  my  mar- 
riage with  my  cousin  Julia  is  broken  off." 

"  Broken  off!  "  he  ejaculated,  "broken  off!  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  173 


M 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    DOBREES'    GOOD    NAME. 

Y  father's  florid  face  looked  almost  rigid  and  white 
as  my  mother's  had  done.  He  stood  in  the  door- 
way, with  a  lamp  in  his  hand  (for  it  had  grown  quite  dark 
while  my  mother  and  I  were  talking),  and  the  light  shone 
full  upon  his  changed  face.  His  hand  shook  violently,  so 
I  took  the  lamp  from  him  and  set  it  down  on  the  table. 

"  Go  down  to  Mrs.  Murray,"  he  said,  turning  savagely 
upon  my  mother.  "  How  could  you  be  so  rude  as  to 
leave  her?  She  talks  of  going  away.  Let  her  go  as  soon 
as  she  likes.     I  shall  stay  here  with  Martin." 

"I  did  not  know  I  had  been  away  so  long,"  she 
answered  meekly,  and  looking  deprecatingly  from  the  one 
to  the  other  of  us.  "  You  will  not  quarrel  with  your 
father,  Martin,  if  I  leave  you,  will  you?  "  This  she  whis- 
pered in  my  ear  in  a  beseeching  tone. 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,  mother,"  I  replied,  also  in  a 
whisper. 

"Now,  confound  it!  "  cried  Dr.  Dobree,  after  she  had 
gone,  slowly  and  reluctantly,  looking  back  at  the  door  to 
me.  "  Now  just  tell  me  shortly  all  about  this  nonsense 
of  yours.  I  thought  some  quarrel  was  up,  when  Julia  did 
not  come  home  to  dinner.     Out  with  it,  Martin." 

"  As  I  said  before,  there  is  not  much  to  tell,"  I  an- 
swered. "  I  was  compelled  in  honor  to  tell  Julia  I  loved 
another  woman  more  than  herself;  and  I  presume,  though 
I  am  not  sure,  she  will  decline  to  become  my  wife." 

"In  love   with   another  woman!"  repeated   my  father 


i74 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


with  a  long  whistle,  partly  of  sympathy  and  partly  of  per- 
plexity.    "  Who  is  it,  my  son?  " 

"  That  is  of  little  moment,"  I  said,  having  no  desire 
whatever  to  confide  the  story  to  him.  "  The  main  point 
is  that  it's  true,  and  I  told  Julia  so  this  afternoon." 

"  Good  gracious,  Martin !  "  he  cried,  "  what  accursed 
folly!  What  need  was  there  to  tell  her  of  any  little 
peccadillo,  if  you  could  conceal  it?  Why  did  you  not 
come  to  me  for  advice?  Julia  is  a  prude,  like  your 
mother.     It  will  not  be  easy  for  her  to  overlook  this." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  overlook,"  I  said.  "  As  soon  as  I 
knew  my  own  mind,  I  told  her  honestly  about  it." 

At  that  moment  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  my  honesty 
was  due  to  Johanna's  insistent  advice.  I  believed  just 
then  that  I  had  acted  from  the  impulse  of  my  own  sense 
of  honor,  and  the  belief  gave  my  words  and  tone  more 
spirit  than  they  would  have  had  otherwise.  My  father's 
face  grew  paler  and  graver  as  he  listened;  he  looked  older 
by  ten  years  than  he  had  done  an  hour  ago  in  the  dining- 
room. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  he  muttered;  "do  you  mean 
that  this  is  a  serious  thing?  Are  you  in  love  with  some 
girl  of  our  own  class?  Not  a  mere  passing  fancy,  that  no 
one  would  think  seriously  of  for  an  instant?  Just  a  tri- 
fling faux  pas,  that  it  is  no  use  telling  women  about,  eh? 
I  could  make  allowance  for  that,  Martin,  and  get  Julia 
to  do  the  same.     Come,  it  cannot  be  anything  more." 

I  did  not  reply  to  him.  Here  we  had  come,  he  and  I, 
to  the  very  barrier  that  had  been  growing  up  between  us 
ever  since  I  had  first  discovered  my  mother's  secret  and 
wasting  grief.  He  was  on  one  side  of  it,  and  I  on  the 
other — a  wall  of  separation  which  neither  of  us  could  leap 
over. 

"Why  don't  you  speak,  Martin?"  he  asked  testily. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


■75 


"Because  I  hate  the  subject,"  I  answered.  "When  I 
told  Julia  I  loved  another  woman,  I  meant  that  some  one 
else  occupied  that  place  in  my  affection  which  belonged 
rightfully  to  my  wife;  and  so  Julia  understood  it." 

"  Then,"  he  cried,  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  "  I  am  a 
ruined  man!  " 

His  consternation  and  dismay  were  so  real  that  they 
startled  me;  yet  knowing  what  a  consummate  actor  he 
was,  I  restrained  both  my  fear  and  my  sympathy,  and 
waited  for  him  to  enlighten  me  further.  He  sat  with  his 
head  bowed,  and  his  hands  hanging  down,  in  an  attitude 
of  profound  despondency,  so  different  from  his  usual 
jaunty  air,  that  every  moment  increased  my  anxiety. 

"What  can  it  have  to  do  with  you?"  I  asked  after  a 
long  pause. 

"  I  am  a  ruined  and  disgraced  man,"  he  reiterated, 
without  looking  up ;  "  if  you  have  broken  off  your  mar- 
riage with  Julia,  I  shall  never  raise  my  head  again." 

"But  why?  "  I  asked  uneasily. 

"  Come  down  into  my  consulting-room,"  he  said,  after 
another  pause  of  deliberation.  I  went  on  before  him, 
carrying  the  lamp,  and  turning  round  once  or  twice  saw 
his  face  look  gray,  and  the  expression  of  it  vacant  and 
troubled.  His  consulting-room  was  a  luxurious  room, 
elegantly  furnished ;  and  with  several  pictures  on  the  walls, 
including  a  painted  photograph  of  himself,  taken  recently 
by  the  first  photographer  in  Guernsey.  There  were  book- 
cases containing  a  number  of  the  best  medical  works ; 
behind  which  lay,  out  of  sight,  a  numerous  selection  of 
French  novels,  more  thumbed  than  the  ponderous  volumes 
in  front.  He  sank  down  into  an  easy-chair,  shivering  as 
if  we  were  in  the  depth  of  winter. 

"Martin,  I  am  a  ruined  man!"  he  said,  for  the  third 
time. 


176  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"But  how?"  I  asked  again,  impatiently;  for  my  fears 
were  growing  strong.  Certainly  he  was  not  acting  a  part 
this  time. 

"  I  dare  not  tell  you,"  he  cried,  leaning  his  head  upon 
his  desk  and  sobbing.  How  white  his  hair  was !  and  how 
aged  he  looked!  I  recollected  how  he  used  to  play  with 
me  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  carry  me  before  him  on  horse- 
back, as  long  back  as  I  could  remember.  My  heart  soft- 
ened and  warmed  to  him  as  it  had  not  done  for  years. 

"  Father!  "  I  said,  "if  you  can  trust  any  one,  you  can 
trust  me.  If  you  are  ruined  and  disgraced  I  shall  be  the 
same,  as  your  son." 

"  That's  true,"  he  answered,  "  that's  true.  It  will  bring 
disgrace  on  you  and  your  mother.  We  shall  be  forced  to 
leave  Guernsey,  where  she  has  lived  all  her  life ;  and  it 
will  be  the  death  of  her.  Martin,  you  must  save  us  all  by 
making  it  up  with  Julia." 

"  But  why?  "  I  demanded,  once  more.  "  I  must  know 
what  you  mean." 

"Mean?"  he  said,  turning  upon  me  angrily,  "you 
blockhead!  I  mean  that  unless  you  marry  Julia  I  shal 
have  to  give  an  account  of  her  property ;  and  I  could  not 
make  all  square,  not  if  I  sold  every  stick  and  stone  I 
possess." 

I  sat  silent  for  a  time,  trying  to  take  in  this  piece  of  in- 
formation. He  had  been  Julia's  guardian  ever  since  she 
was  left  an  orphan,  ten  years  old ;  but  I  had  never  known 
that  there  had  not  beeu  a  formal  and  legal  settlement  of 
her  affairs  when  she  was  of  age.  Our  family  name  had 
no  blot  upon  it ;  it  was  one  of  the  most  honored  names  in 
the  island.  But  if  this  came  to  light,  then  the  disgrace 
would  be  dark  indeed. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  all  about  it?  "  I  asked. 

My  father,  after  making  his  confession,  settled  himself 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  177 

in  his  chair  comfortably;  appearing  to  feel  that  he  had 
begun  to  make  reparation  for  the  wrong.  His  tempera- 
ment was  more  buoyant  than  mine.  Selfish  natures  are 
often  buoyant. 

"  It  would  take  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "  and  it  would  be 
a  deuce  of  a  nuisance.  You  make  it  up  with  Julia,  and 
marry  her,  as  you're  bound  to  do.  Of  course  you  will 
manage  all  her  money  when  you  are  her  husband,  as  you 
will  be.     Now  you  know  all." 

"  But  I  don't  know  all,"  I  replied ;  "  and  I  insist  upon 
doing  so,  before  I  make  up  my  mind  what  to  do." 

I  believe  he  expected  this  opposition  from  me,  for 
otherwise  all  he  had  said  could  have  been  said  in  my 
room.  But  after  feebly  giving  battle  on  various  points, 
and  staving  off  sundry  inquiries,  he  opened  a  drawer  in 
one  of  his  cabinets,  and  produced  a  number  of  deeds, 
scrip,  etc.,  belonging  to  Julia. 

For  two  hours  I  was  busy  with  his  accounts.  Once  or 
twice  he  tried  to  slink  out  of  the  room ;  but  that  I  would 
not  suffer.  At  length  the  ornamental  clock  on  his  chimney- 
piece  struck  eleven,  and  he  made  another  effort  to  beat 
a  retreat. 

"Do  not  go  away  till  everything  is  clear,"  I  said;  "is 
this  all?" 

"All?"  he  repeated;  "isn't  it  enough?" 

"  Between  three  and  four  thousand  pounds  deficient !  " 
I  answered;  "it  is  quite  enough." 

"Enough  to  make  me  a  felon,"  he  said,  "if  Julia 
chooses  to  prosecute  me." 

"I  think  it  is  highly  probable,"  I  replied;  "though  I 
know  nothing  of  the  law." 

"  Then  you  see  clearly,  Martin,  there  is  no  alternative 
but  for  you  to  marry  her,  and  keep  our  secret.     I  have 
reckoned  upon  this  for  years,  and  your  mother  and  I  have 
12 


178  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

been  of  one  mind  in  bringing  it  about.  If  you  marry 
Julia,  her  affairs  go  direct  from  my  hands  to  yours,  and 
we  are  all  safe.  If  you  break  with  her  she  will  leave  us, 
and  demand  an  account  of  my  guardianship ;  and  your 
name  and  mine  will  be  branded  in  our  own  island." 

"  That  is  very  clear,"  I  said  sullenly. 

"Your  mother  would  not  survive  it!"  he  continued, 
with  a  solemn  accent. 

"Oh!  I  have  been  threatened  with  that  already,"  I  ex- 
claimed, very  bitterly.  "  Pray,  does  my  mother  know  of 
this  disgraceful  business?" 

"  Heaven  forbid!  "  he  cried.  "Your  mother  is  a  good 
woman,  Martin;  as  simple  as  a  dove.  You  ought  to 
think  of  her  before  you  consign  us  all  to  shame.  I  can 
quit  Guernsey.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  it  signifies  very 
little  where  I  lie  down  to  die.  I  have  not  been  as  good 
a  husband  as  I  might  have  been ;  but  I  could  not  face  her 
after  she  knows  this.  Poor  Mary!  My  poor,  poor  love! 
I  believe  she  cares  enough  for  me  still  to  break  her  heart 
over  it." 

"  Then  I  am  to  be  your  scape-goat,"  I  said. 

"  You  are  my  son,"  he  answered ;  "  and  religion  itself 
teaches  us  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  on  the 
children.  I  leave  the  matter  in  your  hands.  But  only 
answer  one  question:  Could  you  show  your  face  among 
your  own  friends  if  this  were  known?  " 

I  knew  very  well  I  could  not.  My  father  a  fraudulent 
steward  of  Julia's  property!  Then  farewell  forever  to 
all  that  had  made  my  life  happy.  We  were  a  proud 
family — proud  of  our  rank,  and  of  our  pure  blood ;  above 
all  of  our  honor,  which  had  never  been  tarnished  by  a 
breath.  I  could  not  yet  bear  to  believe  that  my  father 
was  a  rogue.     He  himself  was  not  so  lost  to  shame  that 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  i7g 

he  could  meet  my  eye.  I  saw  there  was  no  escape  from 
it — I  must  marry  Julia. 

"  Well,"  I  said  at  last,  "  as  you  say,  the  matter  is  in  my 
hands  now ;  and  I  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Good-night, 
sir." 

Without  a  light  I  went  up  to  my  own  room,  where  the 
moon  that  had  shone  upon  me  in  my  last  night's  ride  was 
gleaming  brightly  through  the  window.  I  intended  to  re- 
flect and  deliberate,  but  I  was  worn  out.  I  flung  myself 
down  on  the  bed,  but  I  could  not  have  remained  awake 
for  a  single  moment.  I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep  which  lasted 
till  morning. 


180  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

TWO    LETTERS. 

WHEN  I  awoke  my  poor  mother  was  sitting  beside  me, 
looking  very  ill  and  sorrowful.  She  had  slipped  a 
pillow  under  my  head,  and  thrown  a  shawl  across  me. 
I  got  up  with  a  bewildered  brain,  and  a  general  sense  of 
calamity,  which  I  could  not  clearly  define. 

"Martin,"  she  said,  "your  father  has  gone  by  this 
morning's  boat  to  Jersey.  He  says  you  know  why;  but 
he  has  left  this  note  for  you.  Why  have  you  not  been  in 
bed  last  night?" 

"  Never  mind,  mother,"  I  answered,  as  I  tore  open  the 
note,  which  was  carefully  sealed  with  my  father's  private 
seal.     He  had  written  it  immediately  after  I  left  him. 

"  ii  :  30  p.m. 
"  My  Son, — To-morrow  morning  I  shall  run  over  to 
Jersey  for  a  few  days,  until  this  sad  business  of  yours  is 
settled.  I  cannot  bear  to  meet  your  changed  face.  You 
make  no  allowances  for  your  father.  Half  my  expenses 
have  been  incurred  in  educating  you:  you  ought  to  con- 
sider this,  and  that  you  owe  more  to  me,  as  your  father, 
than  to  any  one  else.  But  in  these  days  parents  receive 
little  honor  from  their  children.  When  all  is  settled,  write 
to  me  at  Prince's  Hotel.  It  rests  upon  you  whether  I 
ever  see  Guernsey  again.     Your  wretched  father, 

"  Richard  Dobree." 

"Can  I  seek?"  asked  my  mother,  holding  out  her 
hand. 


THE   DOCTOR' S  DILEMMA.  181 

"No,  never  mind  seeing  it,"  I  answered;  "it  is  about 
Julia,  you  know.     It  would  only  trouble  you." 

"  Captain  Carey's  man  brought  a  letter  from  Julia  just 
now,"  she  said,  taking  it  from  her  pocket;  "  he  said  there 
was  no  answer." 

Her  eyelids  were  still  red  from  weeping,  and  her  voice 
faltered  as  if  she  might  break  out  into  sobs  at  any  mo- 
ment.    I  took  the  letter  from  her,  but  I  did  not  open  it. 

"You  want  to  be  alone  to  read  it?"  she  said.  "O 
Martin!  if  you  can  change  your  mind,  and  save  us  all 
from  this  great  trouble,  do  it,  for  my  sake?  " 

"If  I  can  I  will,"  I  answered;  "but  everything  is  very 
hard  upon  me,  mother." 

She  could  not  guess  how  hard,  and  if  I  could  help  it 
she  should  never  know.  Now  I  was  fully  awake,  the 
enormity  of  my  father's  dishonesty  and  his  extreme 
egotism  weighed  heavily  upon  me.  I  could  not  view  his 
conduct  in  a  fairer  light  than  I  had  done  in  my  amaze- 
ment the  night  before.  It  grew  blacker  as  I  dwelt  upon 
it.  And  now  he  was  off  to  Jersey,  shirking  the  disagree- 
able consequences  of  his  own  delinquency.  I  knew  how 
he  would  spend  his  time  there.  Jersey  is  no  retreat  for 
the  penitent. 

As  soon  as  my  mother  was  gone  I  opened  Julia's  letter, 
It  began: 

"  My  Dear  Martin  : — I  know  all  now.  Johanna  has 
told  me.  When  you  spoke  to  me  so  hurriedly  and  unex- 
pectedly, this  afternoon,  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  another 
word.  But  now  I  am  calm,  and  I  can  think  it  all  over 
quite  quietly. 

"  It  is  an  infatuation,  Martin.  Johanna  says  so  as  well 
as  I,  and  she  is  never  wrong.  It  is  a  sheer  impossibility 
that  you,  in  your  sober  senses,  should  love  a  strange  per- 


1 82  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

son,  whose  very  name  you  do  not  know,  better  than  you 
do  me,  your  cousin,  your  sister,  your  fiancee  whom  you 
have  known  all  your  life,  and  loved,  I  am  quite  sure  of 
that,  with  a  very  true  affection. 

"  It  vexes  me  to  write  about  that  person  in  any  connec- 
tion with  yourself.  Emma  spoke  of  her  in  her  last  letter 
from  Sark,  not  at  all  in  reference  to  you,  however.  She  is 
so  completely  of  a  lower  class  that  it  would  never  enter 
Emma's  head  that  you  could  see  anything  in  her.  She 
said  there  was  a  rumor  afloat  that  Tardif  was  about  to 
marry  the  girl  you  had  been  attending,  and  that  every- 
body in  the  island  regretted  it.  She  said  it  would  be  a 
mesalliance  for  him,  Tardif!  What  then  would  it  be  for 
you,  a  Dobree?  No;  it  is  a  delusion,  an  infatuation, 
which  will  quickly  pass  away.  I  cannot  believe  you  are 
so  weak  as  to  be  taken  in  by  mere  prettiness  without 
character ;  and  this  person — I  do  not  say  so  harshly,  Mar- 
tin— has  no  character,  no  name.  Were  you  free  you  could 
not  marry  her.  There  is  a  mystery  about  her,  and  mystery 
usually  means  shame.  A  Dobree  could  not  make  an  ad- 
venturess his  wife.  Then  you  have  seen  so  little  of  her. 
Three  times,  since  the  week  you  were  there  in  March! 
What  is  that  compared  to  the  years  we  have  spent  to- 
gether? It  is  impossible  that  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you 
should  love  her  more  than  me. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  think  what  you  would  do  if  all 
is  broken  off  between  us.  We  could  not  keep  this  a 
secret  in  Guernsey,  and  everybody  would  blame  you.  I 
will  not  ask  you  to  think  of  my  mortification  at  being 
jilted,  for  people  would  call  it  that.  I  could  outlive  that. 
But  what  are  you  to  do?  We  cannot  go  on  again  as  we 
used  to  do.  I  must  speak  plainly  about  it.  Your  practice 
is  not  sufficient  to  maintain  the  family  in  a  proper  posi- 
tion for  the  Dobrees ;  and  if  I  go  to  live  alone  at  the  new 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  183 

house,  as  I  must  do,  what  is  to  become  of  my  uncle  and 
aunt  ?    I  have  often  considered  this,  and  have  been  glad 
the   difficulty  was  settled  by  our  marriage.     Now  every- 
thing will  be  unsettled  again. 
*    "I  did  not  intend  to  say  anything  about  myself ;  but, 

0  Martin!  you  do  not  know  the  blank  that  it  will  be  to 
me.  I  have  been  so  happy  since  you  asked  me  to  be  your 
wife.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  think  that  I  should  live  all 
my  life  in  Guernsey,  and  yet  not  to  be  doomed  to  the 
empty,  vacant  lot  of  an  unmarried  woman.  You  think 
that  perhaps  Johanna  is  happy  single?  She  is  content — 
good  women  ought  to  be  content ;  but  I  tell  you,  I  would 
gladly  exchange  her  contentment  for  Aunt  Dobree's 
troubles,  with  her  pride  and  happiness  in  you.  I  have 
seen  her  troubles  clearly ;  and  I  say,  Martin,  I  would  give 
all  Johanna's  calm,  colorless  peace  for  her  delight  in  her 
son. 

"  Then  I  cannot  give  up  the  thought  of  our  home,  just 
finished  and  so  pretty.  It  was  so  pleasant  this  afternoon, 
before   you    came    in    with    your    dreadful    thunder-bolt. 

1  was  thinking  what  a  good  wife  I  would  be  to  you ;  and 
how,  in  my  own  house,  I  should  never  be  tempted  into 
those  tiresome  tempers  you  have  seen  in  me  sometimes. 
It  was  your  father  often  who  made  me  angry,  and  I  visited 
it  upon  you,  because  you  are  so  good-tempered.  That 
was  foolish  of  me.  You  could  not  know  how  much  I  love 
you,  how  my  life  is  bound  up  in  you,  or  you  would  have 
been  proof  against  that  person  in  Sark. 

"  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you  all  this  now,  though  it  is  not 
in  my  nature  to  make  professions  and  demonstrations  of 
my  love.  Think  of  me,  of  yourself,  of  your  poor  mother. 
You  were  never  selfish,  and  you  can  do  noble  things.  I 
do  not  say  it  would  be  noble  to  marry  me ;  but  it  would 
be  a  noble  thing  to  conquer  an  ignoble  passion.     How 


1 84  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

could  Martin  Dobree  fall  in  love  with  an  unknown  adven- 
turess? 

"  I  shall  remain  in  the  house  all  day  to-morrow,  and  if 
you  can  come  to  see  me,  feeling  that  this  has  been  a 
dream  of  folly  from  which  you  have  awakened,  I  will  not» 
ask  you  to  own  it.  That  you  come  at  all  will  be  a  sign  to 
me  that  you  wish  it  forgotten  and  blotted  out  between  us, 
as  if  it  had  never  been. 

"  With  true,  deep  love  for  you,  Martin,  believe  me  still 
"  Your  affectionate  Julia." 

I  pondered  over  Julia's  letter  as  I  dressed.  There  was 
not  a  word  of  resentment  in  it.  It  was  full  of  affection- 
ate thought  for  us  all.  But  what  reasoning!  I  had  not 
known  Olivia  so  long  as  I  had  known  her,  therefore  I 
could  not  love  her  as  truly! 

A  strange  therefore! 

I  had  scarcely  had  leisure  to  think  of  Olivia  in  the 
hurry  and  anxiety  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  But  now 
"that  person  in  Sark,"  the  "unknown  adventuress,"  pre- 
sented herself  very  vividly  to  my  mind.  Know  her!  I 
felt  as  if  I  knew  every  tone  of  her  voice  and  every  expres- 
sion of  her  face ;  yet  I  longed  to  know  them  more  inti- 
mately. The  note  she  had  written  to  me  a  few  weeks 
ago  I  could  repeat  word  for  word,  and  the  handwriting 
seemed  far  more  familiar  to  me  even  than  Julia's.  There 
was  no  doubt  my  love  for  her  was  very  different  from  my 
affection  for  Julia;  and  if  it  was  an  infatuation,  it  was  the 
sweetest,  most  exquisite  infatuation  that  could  ever  pos- 
sess me. 

Yet  there  was  no  longer  any  hesitation  in  my  mind  as 
to  what  I  must  do.  Julia  knew  all  now.  I  had  told  her 
distinctly  of  my  love  for  Olivia,  and  she  would  not  believe 
it.     She  appeared  wishful  to  hold  me  to  my  engagement 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  185 

in  spite  of  it;  at  any  rate,  so  I  interpreted  her  letter.  I 
did  not  suppose  that  I  should  not  live  it  down,  this  in- 
fatuation, as  they  chose  to  call  it.  I  might  hunger  and 
thirst,  and  be  on  the  point  of  perishing ;  then  my  nature 
would  turn  to  other  nutriment,  and  assimilate  it  to  its  con- 
tracted and  stultified  capacities. 

After  all  there  was  some  reason  in  the  objections  urged 
against  Olivia.  The  dislike  of  all  insulated  people  against 
foreigners  is  natural  enough ;  and  in  her  case  there  was  a 
mystery  which  I  must  solve  before  I  could  think  of  ask- 
ing her  to  become  my  wife.  Ask  her  to  become  my  wife! 
That  was  impossible  now.  I  had  chosen  my  wife  months 
before  I  saw  her. 

I  went  mechanically  through  the  routine  of  my  morn- 
ing's work,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  I  could 
get  away  to  ride  to  the  Vale.  My  mother  knew  where  I 
was  going,  and  gazed  wistfully  into  my  face,  but  without 
otherwise  asking  me  any  questions.  At  the  last  moment, 
as  I  touched  Madam's  bridle,  I  looked  down  at  her  stand- 
ing on  the  doorstep.  "Cheer  up,  mother!  "  I  said,  almost 
gayly,  "  it  will  all  come  right." 


1 86  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

ALL    WRONG. 

BY  this  time  you  know  that  I  could  not  ride  along  the 
flat  open  shore  between  St.  Peter-port  and  the  Vale 
without  having  a  good  sight  of  Sark,  though  it  lay  just  a 
little  behind  me.  It  was  not  in  human  nature  to  turn  my 
back  doggedly  upon  it.  I  had  never  seen  it  look  nearer ; 
the  channel  between  us  scarcely  seemed  a  mile  across. 
The  old  windmill  above  the  Havre  Gosselin  stood  out 
plainly.  I  almost  fancied  that  but  for  Brechhou  I  could 
have  seen  Tardifs  house,  where  my  darling  was  living. 
My  heart  leaped  at  the  mere  thought  of  it.  Then  I  shook 
Madam's  bridle  about  her  neck,  and  she  carried  me  on 
at  a  sharp  canter  toward  Captain  Carey's  residence. 

I  saw  Julia  standing  at  a  window  up-stairs,  gazing  down 
the  long  white  road,  which  runs  as  straight  as  an  arrow 
through  the  Braye  du  Valle  to  L'Ancresse  Common. 

She  must  have  seen  Madam  and  me  half  a  mile  away; 
but  she  kept  her  post  motionless  as  a  sentinel,  until  I 
jumped  down  to  open  the  gate.     Then  she  vanished. 

The  servant-man  was  at  the  door  by  the  time  I  reached 
it,  and  Johanna  herself  was  on  the  threshhold  with  her 
hands  outstretched  and  her  face  radiant.  I  was  as  wel- 
come as  the  prodigal  son,  and  she  was  ready  to  fall  on 
my  neck  and  kiss  me. 

"I  felt  sure  of  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
trusted  to  your  good  sense  and  honor,  and  they  have  not 
failed  you.  Thank  God,  you  are  come!  Julia  has  neither 
ate  nor  slept  since  I  brought  her  here." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  187 

She  led  me  to  her  own  private  sitting-room,  where  I 
found  Julia  standing  by  the  fireplace,  and  leaning  against 
it,  as  if  she  could  not  stand  alone.  When  I  went  up  to 
her  and  took  her  hand,  she  flung  her  arms  round  my  neck, 
and  clung  to  me,  in  a  passion  of  tears.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  she  could  recover  her  self-command.  I 
had  never  seen  her  abandon  herself  to  such  a  paroxysm 
before. 

"Julia,  my  poor  girl!"  I  said,  "I  did  not  think  you 
would  take  it  so  much  to  heart  as  this." 

"  I  shall  come  all  right  directly,"  she  sobbed,  sitting 
down,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  "  Johanna  said 
you  would  come,  but  I  was  not  sure." 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,"  I  answered,  with  9.  very  dreary  feel- 
ing about  me. 

"That  is  enough,"  said  Julia;  "you  need  not  say  a 
word  more.  Let  us  forget  it,  both  of  us.  You  will  only 
give  me  your  promise  never  to  see  her,  or  speak  to  her 
again." 

It  might  be  a  fair  thing  for  her  to  ask,  but  it  was  not  a 
fair  thing  for  me  to  promise.  Olivia  had  told  me  she 
had  no  friends  at  all  except  Tardif  and  me ;  and  if  the 
gossip  of  the  Sark  people  drove  her  from  the  shelter  of 
his  roof,  I  should  be  her  only  resource,  and  I  believed  she 
would  come  frankly  to  me  for  help. 

"Olivia  quite  understands  about  my  engagement  to 
you,"  I  said.  "  I  told  her  at  once  that  we  were  going  to  be 
married,  and  that  I  hoped  she  would  find  a  friend  in  you." 

"A  friend  in  me,  Martin!  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of 
indignant  surprise;  "you  could  not  ask  me  to  be  that!  " 

"Not  now,  I  suppose,"  I  replied;  "the  girl  is  as  inno- 
cent and  blameless  as  any  girl  living ;  but  I  dare  say  you 
would  sooner  befriend  the  most  good-for-nothing  Jezebel 
in  the  Channel  Islands." 


1 88  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  she  said.  "An  innocent  girl  indeed! 
I  only  wish  she  had  been  killed  when  she  fell  from  the 
cliff." 

'Hush!"  I  cried,  shuddering  at  the  bare  mention  of 
Olivia's  death ;  "  you  do  not  know  what  you  say.  It  is 
worse  than  useless  to  talk  about  her.  I  came  to  ask  you 
to  think  no  more  of  what  passed  between  us  yesterday." 

"  But  you  are  going  to  persist  in  your  infatuation,"  said 
Julia ;  "  you  can  never  deceive  me.  I  know  you  too  well. 
Oh,  I  see  that  you  still  think  the  same  of  her!  " 

"  You  know  nothing  about  her,"  I  replied. 

"And  1  shall  take  care  I  never  do,"  she  interrupted 
spitefully. 

"So  it  is  of  no-use  to  go  on  quarrelling  about  her,"  I 
continued,  taking  no  notice  of  the  interruption.  "  I 
made  up  my  mind  before  I  came  here  that  I  must  see  as 
little  as  possible  of  her  for  the  future.  You  must  under- 
stand, Julia,  she  has  never  given  me  a  particle  of  reason 
to  suppose  she  loves  me." 

"But  you  are  still  in  love  with  her?  "  she  asked. 

I  stood  biting  my  nails  to  the  quick,  a  trick  I  had  while 
a  boy,  but  one  that  had  been  broken  off  by  my  mother's 
and  Julia's  combined  vigilance.  Now  the  habit  came 
back  upon  me  in  full  force,  as  my  only  resource  from 
speaking. 

"  Martin,"  she  said,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  a  rising  tone 
in  her  voice,  which,  like  the  first  shrill  moan  of  the  wind, 
presaged  a  storm,  "  I  will  never  marry  you  until  you  can 
say,  on  your  word  of  honor,  that  you  love  that  person  no 
longer,  and  are  ready  to  promise  to  hold  no  further  com- 
munication with  her.  Oh!  I  know  what  my  poor  aunt 
has  had  to  endure,  and  I  will  not  put  up  with  it." 

"Very  well,  Julia,"  I  answered,  controlling  myself  as 
well  as  I  could,  "  I  have  only  one  more  word  to  say  on 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  189 

this  subject.  I  love  Olivia,  and  as  far  as  I  know  myself, 
I  shall  love  her  as  long  as  I  live.  I  did  not  come  here  to 
give  you  any  reason  for  supposing  my  mind  is  changed  as 
to  her.  If  you  consent  to  be  my  wife,  I  will  do  my  best, 
God  helping  me,  to  be  most  true,  most  faithful  to  you ; 
and  God  forbid  I  should  injure  Olivia  in  thought  by  sup- 
posing she  could  care  for  me  other  than  as  a  friend.  But 
my  motive  for  coming  now  is  to  tell  you  some  particulars 
about  your  property,  which  my  father  made  known  to  me 
only  last  night." 

It  was  a  miserable  task  for  me;  but  I  told  her  simply 
the  painful  discovery  I  had  made.  She  sat  listening  with 
a  dark  and  sullen  face,  but  betraying  not  a  spark  of  re- 
sentment, so  far  as  her  loss  of  fortune  was  concerned. 

"Yes,"  she  said  bitterly  when  I  had  finished,  "robbed 
by  the  father  and  jilted  by  the  son." 

"  I  would  give  my  life  to  cancel  the  wrong,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  talk,"  she  replied,  with  a  deadly  cold- 
ness of  tone  and  manner. 

"  I  am  ready  to  do  whatever  you  choose,"  I  urged.  "  It 
is  true  my  father  has  robbed  you ;  but  it  is  not  true  that 
I  have  jilted  you.  I  did  not  know  my  own  heart  till  a 
word  from  Captain  Carey  revealed  it  to  me ;  and  I  told 
you  frankly,  partly  because  Johanna  insisted  upon  it,  and 
partly  because  I  believed  it  right  to  do  so.  If  you  de- 
mand it,  I  will  even  promise  not  to  see  Olivia  again,  or 
to  hold  direct  communication  with  her.  Surely  that  is  all 
you  ought  to  require  from  me." 

"No,"  she  replied  vehemently;  "do  you  suppose  I 
could  become  your  wife  while  you  maintain  that  you  love 
another  woman  better  than  me?  You  must  have  a  very 
low  opinion  of  me." 

"  Would  you  have  me  tell  you  a  falsehood?  "  I  rejoined, 
with  vehemence  equal  to  hers. 


iqo  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  You  had  better  leave  me,"  she  said,  "  before  we  hate 
one  another.  I  tell  you  I  have  been  robbed  by  the  father 
and  jilted  by  the  son.     Good-by,  Martin.1' 

"  Good-by,  Julia,"  I  replied;  but  I  still  lingered,  hop- 
ing she  would  speak  to  me  again.  I  was  anxious  to  hear 
what  she  would  do  against  my  father.  She  looked  at  me 
fully  and  angrily,  and  as  I  did  not  move,  she  swept  out  of 
the  room,  with  a  dignity  which  I  had  never  seen  in  her 
before.  I  retreated  toward  the  house  door,  but  could  not 
make  good  my  escape  without  encountering  Johanna. 

"Well,  Martin?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  all  wrong,"  I  answered.  "  Julia  persists  in  it  that 
I  am  jilting  her." 

"All  the  world  will  think  you  have  behaved  very  badly," 
she  said. 

"I  suppose  so,"  I  replied;  "but  don't  you  think  so, 
Johanna." 

She  shook  her  head  in  silence,  and  closed  the  hall  door 
after  me.  Many  a  door  in  Guernsey  would  be  shut  against 
me  as  soon  as  this  was  known. 

I  had  to  go  round  to  the  stables  to  find  Madam.  The 
man  had  evidently  expected  me  to  stay  a  long  while,  for 
her  saddle-girths  were  loosened,  and  the  bit  out  of  her 
mouth,  that  she  might  enjoy  a  liberal  feed  of  oats.  Cap- 
tain Carey  came  up  to  me  as  I  was  buckling  the  girths. 

"  Well,  Martin,"  he  asked,  exactly  as  Johanna  had  done 
before  him. 

"All  wrong,"  I  repeated. 

"  Dear!  dear!  "  he  said,  in  his  mildest  tones,  and  with 
his  hand  resting  affectionately  on  my  shoulder;  "I  wish  I 
had  lost  the  use  of  my  eyes  or  tongue  the  other  day.  I 
am  vexed  to  death  that  I  found  out  your  secret." 

"  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  found  it  out  myself,"  I  said, 
"  and  it  is  better  now  than  after." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


191 


"So  it  is,  my  boy;  so  it  is,"  he  rejoined.  "Between 
ourselves,  Julia  is  a  little  too  old  for  you.  Cheer  up !  she 
is  a  good  girl,  and  will  get  over  it,  and  be  friends  again 
with  you  by-and-by.  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  bring  that 
about  If  Olivia  is  only  as  good  as  she  is  handsome, 
you'll  be  happier  with  her  than  with  poor  Julia." 

He  patted  my  back  with  a  friendliness  that  cheered  me, 
while  his  last  words  sent  the  blood  bounding  through  my 
veins.  I  rode  home  again,  Sark  lying  in  full  view  before 
me ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  darkness  of  my  prospects,  I  felt 
intensely  glad  to  be  free  to  win  my  Olivia. 

Four  days  passed  without  any  sign  from  either  Julia  or 
my  father.  I  wrote  to  him  detailing  my  interview  with 
her,  but  no  reply  came.  My  mother  and  I  had  the  house 
to  ourselves;  and,  in  spite  of  her  frettings,  we  enjoyed 
considerable  pleasure  during  the  temporary  lull.  There 
were,  however,  sundry  warnings  out  of  doors  which  fore- 
told tempest.  I  met  cold  glances  and  sharp  inquiries 
from  old  friends,  among  whom  some  rumors  of  our  separa- 
tion were  floating.  There  was  sufficient  to  justify  suspicion : 
my  father's  absence,  Julia's  prolonged  sojourn  with  the 
Careys  at  the  Vale,  and  the  postponement  of  my  voyage 
to  England.  I  began  to  fancy  that  even  the  women 
servants  flouted  at  me. 


192  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


DEAD    TO    HONOR. 


THE  mail  which  left  Jersey  on  Monday  morning  brought 
no  letter  from  my  father.  But  during  the  afternoon 
as  I  was  passing  along  the  Canichers,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  Captain  Carey  and  Julia,  who  wore  a  thick  veil  over 
her  face.  The  Canichers  is  a  very  narrow  winding  street, 
where  no  conveyances  are  allowed  to  run,  and  all  of  us 
had  chosen  it  in  preference  to  the  broad  road  along  the 
quay,  where  we  were  liable  to  meet  many  acquaintances. 
There  was  no  escape  for  any  of  us.  An  enormously  high, 
strong  wall,  such  as  abound  in  St.  Peter-port,  was  on  one 
side  of  us,  and  some  locked  up  stables  on  the  other.  Julia 
turned  away  her  head,  and  appeared  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  a  very  small  placard,  which  did  not  cover  one 
stone  of  the  wall,  though  it  was  the  only  one  there.  I 
shook  hands  with  Captain  Carey,  who  regarded  us  with  a 
comical  expression  of  distress,  and  waited  to  see  if  she 
would  recognize  me;  but  she  did  not. 

"Julia  has  had  a  letter  from  your  father,"  he  said. 

"Yes?  "  I  replied,  in  a  tone  of  inquiry. 

"Or  rather  from  Dr.  Collas,"  he  pursued.  "Prepare 
yourself  for  bad  news,  Martin.  Your  father  is  very  ill; 
dangerously  so,  he  thinks." 

The  news  did  not  startle  me.  I  had  been  long  aware 
that  my  father  was  one  of  those  medical  men  who  are  ex- 
cessively nervous  about  their  own  health,  and  are  aston- 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  193 

ished  that  so  delicate  and  complicated  an  organization  as 
the  human  frame  should  ever  survive  for  sixty  years  the 
ills  it  is  exposed  to.  But  at  this  time  it  was  possible  that 
distress  of  mind  and  anxiety  for  the  future  might  have 
made  him  really  ill.  There  was  no  chance  of  crossing  to 
Jersey  before  the  next  morning. 

"  He  wished  Dr.  Collas  to  write  to  Julia,  so  as  not  to 
alarm  your  mother,1'  continued  Captain  Carey,  as  I  stood 
silent. 

"I  will  go  to-morrow,"  I  said;  "  but  we  must  not  frighten 
my  mother  if  we  can  help  it/' 

"  Dr.  Dobree  begs  that  you  will  go,"  he  answered — 
"you  and  Julia." 

"Julia!  "  I  exclaimed.     "Oh,  impossible!  " 

"I  don't  see  that  it  is  impossible,"  said  Julia,  speaking 
for  the  first  time.  "He  is  my  own  uncle,  and  has  acted 
as  my  father.  I  intend  to  go  to  see  him ;  but  Captain 
Carey  has  promised  to  go  with  me." 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  dear  Julia,"  I  an- 
swered gratefully.  A  heavy  load  was  lifted  off  my  spirits, 
for  I  came  to  this  conclusion — that  she  had  said  nothing, 
and  would  say  nothing,  to  the  Careys  about  his  defalca- 
tions.    She  would  not  make  her  uncle's  shame  public. 

I  told  my  mother  that  Julia  and  I  were  going  over  to 
Jersey  the  next  morning,  and  she  was  more  than  satisfied. 
We  went  on  board  together  as  arranged — Julia,  Captain 
Carey,  and  I.  But  Julia  did  not  stay  on  deck,  and  I  saw 
nothing  of  her  during  our  two  hours'  sail. 

Captain  Carey  told  me  feelingly  how  terribly  she  was 
fretting,  notwithstanding  all  their  efforts  to  console  her. 
He  was  full  of  this  topic,  and  could  think  and  speak  of 
nothing  else,  worrying  me  with  the  most  minute  particu- 
lars of  her  deep  dejection,  until  I  felt  myself  one  of  the 
most  worthless  scoundrels  in  existence.  I  was  in  this 
13 


194 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


humiliated  state  of  mind  when  we  landed  in  Jersey,  and 
drove  in  separate  cars  to  the  hotel  where  my  father  was 
lying  ill. 

The  landlady  received  us  with  a  portentous  face.  Dr. 
Collas  had  spoken  very  seriously  indeed  of  his  patient,  and 
as  for  herself,  she  had  not  the  smallest  hope.  I  heard 
Julia  sob,  and  saw  her  lift  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes 
behind  her  veil. 

Captain  Carey  looked  very  much  frightened.  He  was 
a  man  of  quick  sympathies,  and  nervous  about  his  own 
life  into  the  baragin,  so  that  any  serious  illness  alarmed 
him.  As  for  myself,  I  was  in  the  miserable  condition  of 
mind  I  have  described  above. 

We  were  not  admitted  into  my  father's  room  for  half 
an  hour,  as  he  sent  word  he  must  get  up  his  strength  for 
the  interview.  Julia  and  myself  alone  were  allowed  to  see 
him.  He  was  propped  up  in  bed  with  a  number  of  pil- 
lows ;  with  the  room  darkened  by  Venetian  blinds,  and  a 
dim  green  twilight  prevailing,  which  cast  a  sickly  hue  over 
his  really  pallid  face.  His  abundant  white  hair  fell  lankly 
about  his  head,  instead  of  being  in  crisp  curls  as  usual.  I 
was  about  to  feel  his  pulse  for  him,  but  he  waved  me  off. 

"  No,  my  son,"  he  said,  "  my  recovery  is  not  to  be  de- 
sired. I  feel  that  I  have  nothing  now  to  do  but  to  die. 
It  is  the  only  reparation  in  my  power.  I  would  far  rather 
die  than  recover." 

I  had  nothing  to  say  to  that ;  indeed,  I  had  really  no 
answer  ready,  so  amazed  was  I  at  the  tone  he  had  taken. 
But  Julia  began  to  sob  again,  and  pressed  past  me,  sink- 
ing down  on  the  chair  by  his  side,  and  laying  her  hand 
upon  one  of  his  pillows. 

"Julia,  my  love,"  he  continued  feebly,  "you  know 
how  I  have  wronged  you;  but  you  are  a  true  Christian. 
You  will  forgive  your  uncle  when  he  is  dead  and  gone. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  195 

I  should  like  to  be  buried  in  Guernsey  with  the  other 
Dobrees." 

Neither  did  Julia  answer,  save  by  sobs.  I  stepped 
toward  the  window  to  draw  up  the  blinds,  but  he  stopped 
me,  speaking  in  a  much  stronger  voice  than  before. 

"  Leave  them  alone,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  see 
the  light  of  day.  A  dishonored  man  does  not  care  to 
show  his  face.  I  have  seen  no  one  since  I  left  Guernsey, 
except  Collas." 

"  I  think  you  are  alarming  yourself  needlessly,"  I  an- 
swered. "You  know  you  are  fidgetty  about  your  own 
health.  Let  me  prescribe  for  you.  Surely  I  know  as 
much  as  Collas." 

"No,  no,  let  me  die,"  he  said  plaintively;  "then  you 
can  all  be  happy.  I  have  robbed  my  only  brother's  only 
child,  who  was  dear  to  me  as  my  own  daughter.  I  cannot 
hold  up  my  head  after  that.  I  should  die  gladly  if  you 
two  were  but  reconciled  to  one  another." 

By  this  time  Julia's  hand  had  reached  his,  and  was 
resting  in  it  fondly.  I  never  knew  a  man  gifted  with  such 
power  over  women  and  their  susceptibilities  as  he  had. 
My  mother  herself  would  appear  to  forget  all  her  un- 
happiness,  if  he  only  smiled  upon  her. 

"My  poor,  dear  Julia! "  he  murmured;  "my  poor 
child!" 

"  Uncle,"  she  said,  checking  her  sobs  by  a  great  effort, 
"if  you  imagine  I  should  tell  anyone — Johanna  Carey 
even — what  you  have  done,  you  wrong  me.  The  name 
of  Dobree  is  as  dear  to  me  as  to  Martin,  and  he  was  will- 
ing to  marry  a  woman  he  detested  in  order  to  shield  it. 
No,  you  are  quite  safe  from  disgrace  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned." 

"God  in  heaven  bless  you,  my  own  Julia!  "  he  ejacu- 
lated fervently.      "I    knew   your   noble   nature;    but   it 


196  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

grieves  me  the  more  deeply  that  I  have  so  thoughtlessly 
wronged  you.  If  I  should  live  to  get  over  this  illness,  I 
will  explain  it  all  to  you.  It  is  not  so  bad  as  it  seems. 
But  will  you  not  be  equally  generous  to  Martin?  Cannot 
you  forgive  him  as  you  do  me?  " 

"  Uncle,"  she  cried,  "  I  could  never,  never  marry  a  man 
who  says  he  loves  some  one  else  more  than  me." 

Her  face  was  hidden  in  the  pillows,  and  my  father 
stroked  her  head,  glancing  at  me  contemptuously  at  the 
same  time. 

"I  should  think  not,  my  girl!"  he  said,  in  a  soothing 
tone ;  "  but  Martin  will  very  soon  repent.  He  is  a  fool 
just  now,  but  he  will  be  wise  again  presently.  He  has 
known  you  too  long  not  to  know  your  worth." 

"Julia,"  I  said,  "I  do  know  how  good  you  are.  You 
have  always  been  generous,  and  you  are  so  now.  I  owe 
you  as  much  gratitude  as  my  father  does,  and  anything  I 
can  do  to  prove  it  I  am  ready  to  do  this  day." 

"Will  you  marry  her  before  we  leave  Jersey?"  asked 
my  father. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

The  word  slipped  from  me  almost  unawares,  yet  I  did 
not  wish  to  retract  it.  She  was  behaving  so  nobly  and 
generously  toward  us  both,  that  I  was  willing  to  do  any- 
thing to  make  her  happy. 

"Then,  my  love,"  he  said,  "you  hear  what  Martin 
promises.  All's  well  that  ends  well.  Only  make  up  your 
mind  to  put  your  proper  pride  away,  and  we  shall  all  be 
as  happy  as  we  were  before." 

"Never!  "  she  cried  indignantly.  "I  would  not  marry 
Martin  here,  hurriedly  and  furtively;  no,  not  if  you  were 
dying,  uncle !  " 

"But,  Julia,  if  I  were  dying,  and  wished  to  see  you 
united  before  my  death !  "  he  insinuated.     A  sudden  light 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  197 

broke  upon  me.  It  was  an  ingenious  plot — one  at  which 
I  could  not  help  laughing,  mad  as  I  was.  Julia's  pride 
was  to  be  saved,  and  an  immediate  marriage  between  us 
effected,  under  cover  of  my  father's  dangerous  illness.  I 
did  smile,  in  spite  of  my  anger,  and  he  caught  it,  and  smiled 
back  again.     I  think  Julia  became  suspicious  too. 

"Martin,"  she  said,  sharpening  her  voice  to  address 
me,  "do you  think  your  father  is  in  any  danger?  " 

"No,  I  do  not,"  I  answered,  notwithstanding  his  ges- 
tures and  frowns. 

"Then,  that  is  at  an  end,"  she  said.  "I  was  almost 
foolish  enough  to  think  that  I  would  yield.  You  don't 
know  what  this  disappointment  is  to  me.  Everybody  will 
be  talking  of  it,  and  some  of  them  will  pity  me,  and  the 
rest  laugh  at  me.  I  am  ashamed  of  going  out  of  doors 
anywhere.     Oh,  it  is  too  bad;  I  cannot  bear  it." 

She  was  positively  writhing  with  agitation,  and  tears, 
real  tears  I  am  sure,  started  into  my  father's  eyes. 

"My  poor  little  Julia!"  he  said;  "my  darling!  But 
what  can  be  done  if  you  will  not  marry  Martin?  " 

"  He  ought  to  go  away  from  Guernsey,"  she  sobbed. 
"  I  should  feel  better  if  I  was  quite  sure  I  should  never 
see  him,  or  hear  of  other  people  seeing  him." 

"  I  will  go,"  I  said.  "  Guernsey  will  be  too  hot  for  me 
when  all  this  is  known." 

"And,  uncle,"  she  pursued,  speaking  to  him,  not  me, 
"he  ought  to  promise  me  to  give  up  that  girl.  I  cannot 
set  him  free  to  go  and  marry  her — a  stranger  and  adven- 
turess. She  will  be  his  ruin.  I  think,  for  my  sake,  he 
ought  to  give  her  up." 

"  So  he  ought,  and  so  he  will,  my  love,"  answered  my 
father.  "  When  he  thinks  of  all  we  owe  to  you,  he  will 
promise  you  that." 

I  pondered  over  what  our  family  owed  to  Julia  for 


198  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

some  minutes.  It  was  truly  a  very  great  debt.  Though 
I  had  brought  her  into  perhaps  the  most  painful  position 
a  woman  could  be  placed  in,  she  was  generously  sacrific- 
ing her  just  resentment  and  revenge  against  my  father's 
dishonesty,  in  order  to  secure  our  name  from  blot. 

On  the  other  hand  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  Olivia 
loved  me,  and  I  should  do  her  no  wrong.  I  felt  that, 
whatever  it  might  cost  me,  I  must  consent  to  Julia's  stip- 
ulation. "  It  is  the  hardest  think  you  could  ask  me,"  I 
said,  "  but  I  will  give  her  up.  On  one  condition,  how- 
ever; for  I  must  not  leave  her  without  friends.  I  shall 
tell  Tardif  if  he  ever  needs  help  for  Olivia  he  must  apply 
to  me  through  my  mother/' 

"  There  could  be  no  harm  in  that,"  observed  my  father. 

"  How  soon  shall  I  leave  Guernsey?  "   I  asked. 

"  He  cannot  go  until  you  are  well  again,  uncle,"  she 
answered.  "  I  will  stay  here  to  nurse  you,  and  Martin 
must  take  care  of  your  patients.  We  will  send  him  word 
a  day  or  two  before  we  return,  and  I  should  like  him  to 
be  gone  before  we  reach  home." 

That  was  my  sentence  of  banishment.  She  had  only 
addressed  me  once  during  the  conversation.  It  was  curi- 
ous to  see  how  there  was  no  resentment  in  her  manner 
toward  my  father,  who  had  systematically  robbed  her, 
while  she  treated  me  with  profound  wrath  and  bitterness. 

She  allowed  him  to  hold  her  hand  and  stroke  her  hair; 
she  would  not  have  suffered  me  to  approach  her.  No 
doubt  it  was  harder  for  her  to  give  up  a  lover  than  to  lose 
the  whole  of  her  property. 

She  left  us  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for  stay- 
ing with  my  father,  whose  illness  appeared  to  have  lost  sud- 
denly its  worst  symptoms.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone  he 
regarded  me  with  a  look  half  angry,  half  contemptuous. 

"What  a  fool  you  are!  "   he  said.     "You  have  no  tact 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  199 

whatever  in  the  management  of  women.  Julia  would  fly 
back  to  you  if  you  only  held  up  your  finger." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  hold  up  my  finger  to  her.*'  I  an- 
swered. "  I  don't  think  life  with  her  would  be  so  highly 
desirable." 

"  You  thought  so  a  few  weeks  ago,"  he  said,  "  and  you'll 
be  a  pauper  without  her." 

"  I  was  not  going  to  marry  her  for  her  money,"  I  re- 
plied. "A  few  weeks  ago  I  cared  more  for  her  than  for 
any  other  woman,  except  my  mother,  and  she  knew  it. 
All  that  is  changed  now." 

"Well,  well!"  he  said  peevishly,  "do  as  you  like.  I 
wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  business.  Julia  will  not  for- 
sake me  if  she  renounces  you,  and  I  shall  have  need  of 
her  and  her  money.     I  shall  cling  to  Julia." 

"  She  will  be  a  kind  nurse  to  you,"  I  remarked. 

"Excellent!"  he  answered,  settling  himself  languidly 
down  among  his  pillows.  "  She  may  come  in  now  and 
watch  beside  me ;  it  will  be  the  sort  of  occupation  to  suit 
her  in  her  present  state  of  feeling.  You  had  better  go 
out  and  amuse  yourself  in  your  own  way.  Of  course  you 
will  go  home  to-morrow  morning." 

I  would  have  gone  back  to  Guernsey  at  once,  but  I 
found  neither  cutter  nor  yacht  sailing  that  afternoon,  so 
was  obliged  to  wait  for  the  steamer  next  morning.  I  did 
not  see  Julia  again,  but  Captain  Carey  told  me  she  had 
consented  that  he  should  remain  at  hand  for  a  day  or  two, 
to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  use  to  her. 

The  report  of  my  father's  illness  had  spread  before  I 
reached  home,  and  sufficiently  accounted  for  our  visit  to 
Jersey,  and  the  temporary  postponement  of  my  last  trip  to 
England  before  our  marriage.  My  mother,  Johanna,  and 
I  kept  our  own  counsel,  and  answered  the  many  questions 
asked  us  as  vaguely  as  the  Delphic  oracle. 


200  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Still  an  uneasy  suspicion  and  suspense  hung  about  our 
circle.  The  atmosphere  was  heavily  charged  with  elec 
tricity,  which  foreboded  storms.  It  would  be  well  for  me 
to  quit  Guernsey  before  all  the  truth  came  out.  I  wrote 
to  Tardif,  telling  him  I  was  going  for  an  indefinite  period 
to  London,  and  that  if  any  difficulty  or  danger  threatened 
Olivia,  I  begged  of  him  to  communicate  with  my  mother, 
who  had  promised  me  to  befriend  her  as  far  as  it  lay  in 
her  power.  My  poor  mother  thought  of  her  without  bit- 
terness, though  with  deep  regret.  To  Olivia  herself  I 
wrote  a  line  or  two,  finding  myself  too  weak  to  resist  the 
temptation.     I  said — 

"  My  dear  Olivia: — I  told  you  I  was  about  to  be  mar- 
ried to  my  cousin  Julia  Dobree;  that  engagement  is  at 
an  end.  I  am  obliged  to  leave  Guernsey,  and  seek  my 
fortune  elsewhere.  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  I  can 
see  you  again,  if  I  ever  have  that  great  happiness. 
Whenever  you  feel  the  want  of  a  true  and  tender  friend, 
my  mother  is  prepared  to  love  you  as  if  you  were  her  own 
daughter.     Think  of  me  also  as  your  friend. 

"  Martin  Dobree." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  201 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

IN  EXILE. 

1LEFT  Guernsey  the  day  before  my  father  and  Julia 
returned  from  Jersey. 

My  immediate  future  was  not  as  black  as  it  might  have 
been.  I  was  going  direct  to  the  house  of  my  friend  Jack 
Senior,  who  had  been  my  churn  both  at  Elizabeth  College 
and  at  Guy's.  He,  like  myself,  had  been  hitherto  a  sort 
of  partner  to  his  father,  the  well-known  physician,  Dr. 
Senior,  of  Brook  Street.  They  lived  together  in  a  highly 
respectable  but  gloomy  residence,  kept  bachelor  fashion, 
for  they  had  no  womankind  at  all  belonging  to  them. 
The  father  and  son  lived  a  good  deal  apart,  though  they 
were  deeply  attached  to  one  another.  Jack  had  his  own 
apartments  and  his  own  guests,  in  the  spacious  house, 
and  Dr.  Senior  had  his. 

The  first  night,  as  Jack  and  I  sat  up  together  in  the  long 
summer  twilight,  till  the  dim,  not  really  dark,  midnight 
came  over  us,  I  told  him  everything ;  as  one  tells  a  friend  a 
hundred  things  one  cannot  put  into  words  to  any  person 
who  dwells  under  the  same  roof,  and  is  witness  of  every 
circumstance  of  one's  career. 

As  I  was  talking  to  him,  every  emotion  and  perception 
of  my  brain,  which  had  been  in  a  wild  state  of  confusion 
and  conflict,  appeared  to  fall  into  its  proper  rank.  I  was 
no  longer  doubtful  as  to  whether  I  had  been  the  fool  my 
father  called  me.     My  love  for  Olivia  acquired  force  and 


202  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

decision.  My  judgment  that  it  would  have  been  a  folly 
and  a  crime  to  marry  Julia  became  confirmed. 

"  Old  fellow,"  said  Jack,  when  I  had  finished,  "  you  are 
in  no  end  of  a  mess." 

"Well,  I  am,"  I  admitted;  "but  what  am  I  to  do?" 

"First  of  all,  how  much  money  have  you?"  he  asked. 

"  I'd  rather  not  say,"  I  answered. 

"  Come,  old  friend,"  he  said,  in  his  most  persuasive 
tones,  "have  you  fifty  pounds  in  hand?" 

"No,"  I  replied. 

"Thirty?" 

I  shook  my  head,  but  I  would  not  answer  him  further. 

"That's  bad!  "  he  said;  "but  it  might  be  worse.  I've 
lots  of  tin,  and  we  always  went  shares." 

"I  must  look  out  for  something  to  do  to-morrow,"  I 
remarked. 

"Ay,  yes!"  he  answered  dryly;  "you  might  go  as  as- 
sistant to  a  parish  doctor,  or  get  a  berth  on  board  an  emi- 
grant ship.    There  are  lots  of  chances  for  a  young  fellow." 

He  sat  smoking  his  cigar — a  dusky  outline  of  a  human 
figure,  with  a  bright  speck  of  red  about  the  centre  of  the 
face.     For  a  few  minutes  he  was  lost  in  thought. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  "  I've  a  good  mind  to  marry 
Julia  myself.  I've  always  liked  her,  and  we  want  a  wo- 
man in  the  house.  That  would  put  things  straighter, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"  She  would  never  consent  to  leave  Guernsey,"  I  an- 
swered, laughing.  "  That  was  one  reason  why  she  was  so 
glad  to  marry  me." 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  "would  you  mind  me  having 
Olivia?" 

"Don't  jest  about  such  a  thing,"  I  replied;  "it  is  too 
serious  a  question  with  me." 

"  You  are  really  in  love !  "    he  answered.     "  I  will  not 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  203 

jest  at  it.  But  I  am  ready  to  do  anything  to  help  you, 
old  boy." 

So  it  proved,  for  he  and  Dr.  Senior  did  their  best  during 
the  next  few  weeks  to  find  a  suitable  opening  for  me.  I 
made  their  house  my  home,  and  was  treated  as  a  most 
welcome  guest  in  it.  Still  the  time  was  irksome — more 
irksome  than  I  ever  could  have  imagined.  They  were 
busy  whilst  I  was  unoccupied. 

Occasionally  I  went  out  to  obey  some  urgent  summons, 
when  either  of  them  was  absent ;  but  that  was  a  rare  cir- 
cumstance. The  hours  hung  heavily  upon  me ;  and  the 
close,  sultry  air  of  London,  so  different  from  the  fresh 
sea-breezes  of  my  native  place,  made  me  feel  languid  and 
irritable. 

My  mother's  letters  did  not  tend  to  raise  my  spirits. 
The  tone  of  them  was  uniformly  sad.  She  told  me  the 
flood  of  sympathy  for  Julia  had  risen  very  high  indeed : 
from  which  I  concluded  that  the  public  indignation 
against  myself  must  have  risen  to  the  same  tidemark, 
though  my  poor  mother  said  nothing  about  it.  Julia  had 
resumed  her  old  occupations,  but  her  spirit  was  quite 
broken.  Johanna  Carey  had  offered  to  go  abroad  with 
her,  but  she  had  declined  it,  because  it  would  too  pain- 
fully remind  her  of  our  projected  trip  to  Switzerland. 

A  friend  of  Julia's,  said  my  mother  in  another  letter, 
had  come  to  stay  with  her,  and  to  try  to  rouse  her. 

It  was  evident  she  did  not  like  this  Kate  Daltrey  her- 
self, for  the  dislike  crept  out  unawares  through  all  the 
gentleness  of  her  phrases.  "  She  says  she  is  the  same  age 
as  Julia,"  she  wrote,  "but  she  is  probably  some  years 
older ;  for  as  she  does  not  belong  to  Guernsey  we  have 
no  opportunity  of  knowing."  I  laughed  when  I  read  that. 
f  Your  father  admires  her  very  much,"  she  added. 

No,  my  mother  felt  no  affection  for  her  new  guest. 


204 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


There  was  not  a  word  about  Olivia.  Sark  itself  was 
never  mentioned,  and  it  might  have  sunk  into  the  sea. 
My  eye  ran  over  every  letter  first  with  the  hope  of  catch- 
ing that  name,  but  I  could  not  find  it.  This  persistent 
silence  on  my  mother's  part  was  very  trying. 

I  had  been  away  from  Guernsey  two  months,  and  Jack 
was  making  arrangements  for  a  long  absence  from  London 
as  soon  as  the  season  was  over,  leaving  me  in  charge, 
when  I  received  the  following  letter  from  Johanna  Carey: 

"  Dear  Martin: — Your  father  and  Julia  have  been  here 
this  afternoon,  and  have  confided  to  me  a  very  sad  and 
very  painful  secret,  which  they  ask  me  to  break  gently  to 
you.  I  am  afraid  no  shadow  of  a  suspicion  of  it  has  ever 
fallen  upon  your  mind,  and  I  warn  you,  you  will  need  all 
your  courage  and  strength  as  a  man  to  bear  it.  I  was 
myself  so  overwhelmed  that  I  could  not  write  to  you  until 
now,  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  having  prayed  with  all  my 
heart  to  our  merciful  God  to  sustain  and  comfort  you, 
who  will  feel  this  sorrow  more  than  any  of  us.  My  dear- 
est Martin,  my  poor  boy,  how  can  I  tell  it  to  you?  You 
must  come  home  again  for  a  season.  Even  Julia  wishes 
it,  though  she  cannot  stay  in  the  same  house  with  you, 
and  will  go  to  her  own  with  her  friend  Kate  Daltrey. 
Your  father  cried  like  a  child.  He  takes  it  more  to  heart 
than  I  should  have  expected.  Yet  there  is  no  immediate 
danger;  she  may  live  for  some  months  yet.  My  poor 
Martin,  you  will  have  a  mother  only  a  few  months  longer. 
Three  weeks  ago  she  and  I  went  to  Sark,  at  her  own 
urgent  wish,  to  see  your  Olivia.  I  did  not  then  know 
why.  She  had  a  great  longing  to  see  the  unfortunate  girl 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  so  much  sorrow  to  us  all,  but 
especially  to  her,  for  she  has  pined  sorely  after  you.  We 
did  not  find  her  in  Tardif's  house,  but  Suzanne  directed 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  205 

us  to  the  little  graveyard  half  a  mile  way.  We  followed 
her  there,  and  recognized  her,  of  course,  at  the  first 
glance.  She  is  a  charming  creature,  that  I  allow,  though 
I  wish  none  of  us  had  ever  seen  her.  Your  mother  told 
her  who  she  was,  and  the  sweetest  flush  and  smile  came 
across  her  face !  They  sat  down  side  by  side  on  one  of 
the  graves,  and  I  strolled  away,  so  I  do  not  know  what 
they  said  to  one  another.  Olivia  walked  down  with  us  to 
the  Havre  Gosselin,  and  your  mother  held  her  in  her  arms 
and  kissed  her  tenderly.     Even  I  could  not  help  kissing  her. 

"Now  I  understand  why  your  mother  longed  to  see 
Olivia.  She  knew  then — she  has  known  for  months — that 
her  days  are  numbered.  When  she  was  in  London  last 
November  she  saw  the  most  skilful  physicians,  and  they 
all  agreed  that  her  disease  was  incurable  and  fatal.  Why 
did  she  conceal  it  from  you?  Ah,  Martin,  you  must  know 
a  woman's  heart,  a  mother's  heart,  before  you  can  com- 
prehend that.  Your  father  knew,  but  no  one  else.  What 
a  martyrdom  of  silent  agony  she  has  passed  through !  She 
has  a  clear  calculation,  based  upon  the  opinion  of  the 
medical  men,  as  to  how  long  she  might  have  lived  had 
her  mind  been  kept  calm  and  happy.  How  far  that  has 
not  been  the  case  we  all  know  too  well. 

"  If  your  marriage  with  Julia  had  taken  place,  you 
would  now  have  been  on  your  way  home,  not  to  be  parted 
from  her  again  till  the  final  separation.  We  all  ask  you 
to  return  to  Guernsey,  and  devote  a  few  more  weeks  to 
one  who  has  loved  you  so  passionately  and  fondly.  Even 
Julia  asks  it.  Her  resentment  gives  way  before  this  terri- 
ble sorrow.  We  have  not  told  your  mother  what  we  are 
about  to  do,  lest  anything  should  prevent  your  return. 
She  is  as  patient  and  gentle  as  a  lamb,  and  is  ready  with 
a  quiet  smile  for  every  one.  O  Martin,  what  a  loss  she 
will  be  to  us  all.     My  heart  is  bleeding  for  you. 


206  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"Do  not  come  before  you  have  answered  this  letter, 
that  we  may  prepare  her  for  your  return.  Write  by  the 
next  boat,  and  come  by  the  one  after.  Julia  will  have  to 
move  down  to  the  new  house,  and  that  will  be  excite- 
ment enough  for  one  day. 

"  Good-by,  my  dearest  Martin.  I  have  forgiven  every- 
thing ;  so  will  all  our  friends  as  soon  as  they  know  this 
dreadful  secret.     Your  faithful,  loving  cousin, 

"  Johanna  Carey." 

I  read  this  letter  twice,  with  a  singing  in  my  ears  and 
a  whirling  of  my  brain,  before  I  could  realize  the  mean- 
ing. Then  I  refused  to  believe  it.  No  one  knows  better 
than  a  doctor  how  the  most  skilful  head  among  us  may 
be  at  fault. 

My  mother  dying  of  an  incurable  disease!  Impossi- 
ble !  I  would  go  over  at  once  and  save  her.  She  ought 
to  have  told  me  first.  Who  could  have  attended  her  so 
skilfully  and  devotedly  as  her  only  son? 

Yet  the  numbing,  deadly  chill  of  dread  rested  upon  my 
heart.  I  felt  keenly  how  slight  my  power  was,  as  I  had 
done  once  before  when  I  thought  Olivia  would  die.  But 
then  I  had  no  resources,  no  appliances.  Now  I  would 
take  home  with  me  every  remedy  the  experience  and  re- 
searches of  man  had  discovered. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  207 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

OVER-MATCHED. 

MY  mother  had  consulted  Dr.  Senior  himself  when  she 
had  been  in  London.  He  did  not  positively  cut 
off  all  hope  from  me,  though  I  knew  well  he  was  giving 
me  encouragement  in  spite  of  his  own  carefully-formed 
opinion.  He  asserted  emphatically  that  it  was  possible 
to  alleviate  her  sufferings  and  prolong  her  life,  especially 
if  her  mind  was  kept  at  rest.  There  was  not  a  question 
as  to  the  necessity  for  my  immediate  return  to  her.  But 
there  was  still  a  day  for  me  to  tarry  in  London. 

"Martin,'1  said  Jack,  "why  have  you  never  followed  up 
the  clue  about  your  Olivia — the  advertisement,  you  know? 
Shall  we  go  to  those  folks  in  Gray's  Inn  Road  this  after- 
noon? " 

It  had  been  in  my  mind  all  along  to  do  so,  but  the  list- 
less procrastination  of  idleness  had  caused  me  to  put  it 
off  from  time  to  time.  Besides,  while  I  was  absent  from 
the  Channel  Islands  my  curiosity  appeared  to  sleep.  It 
was  enough  to  picture  Olivia  in  her  lowly  home  in  Sark. 
Now  that  I  was  returning  to  Guernsey,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity was  about  to  slip  by,  I  felt  more  anxious  to  seize 
it.  I  would  learn  all  I  could  about  Olivia's  family  and 
friends,  without  betraying  any  part  of  her  secret. 

At  the  nearest  cab-stand  we  found  a  cabman  patronized 
by  Jack — a  red-faced,  good-tempered,  and  good-humored 
man,  who  was  as  fond  and  proud  of  Jack's  notice  as  if 
he  had  been  one  of  the  royal  princes. 


208  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Of  course  there  was  not  the  smallest  difficulty  in  find- 
ing the  office  of  Messrs.  Scott  and  Brown.  It  was  on  the 
second  floor  of  an  ordinary  building,  and  bidding  the 
cabman  wait  for  us  we  proceeded  at  once  up  the  stair- 
case. 

There  did  not  seem  much  business  going  on,  and  our 
appearance  was  hailed  with  undisguised  satisfaction.  The 
solicitors,  if  they  were  solicitors,  were  two  inferior,  com- 
mon-looking men,  but  sharp  enough  to  be  a  match  for 
either  of  us.  We  both  felt  it,  as  if  we  had  detected  a 
snake  in  the  grass  by  its  rattle.  I  grew  wary  by  instinct, 
though  I  had  not  come  with  any  intention  to  tell  them 
what  I  knew  of  Olivia.  My  sole  idea  had  been  to  learn 
something  myself,  not  to  impart  any  information.  But 
when  I  was  face  to  face  with  these  men,  my  business,  and 
the  management  of  it,  did  not  seem  quite  so  simple  as  it 
had  done  until  then. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  consult  my  partner  or  me,"  asked  the 
keenest-looking  man.     "  I  am  Mr.  Scott." 

"  Either  will  do,"  I  answered.  "My  business  will  be 
soon  dispatched.  Some  months  ago  you  inserted  an  ad- 
vertisement in  the  Times.'1'' 

"To  what  purport?"  inquired  Mr.  Scott. 

"  You  offered  fifty  pounds  reward,"  I  replied,  "  for  in- 
formation concerning  a  young  lady." 

A  gleam  of  intelligence  and  gratification  flickered  upon 
both  their  faces,  but  quickly  faded  away  into  a  sober  and 
blank  gravity.  Mr.  Scott  waited  for  me  to  speak  again, 
and  bowed  silently,  as  if  to  intimate  he  was  all  attention. 

"  I  came,"  I  added,  "to  ask  you  for  the  name  and  ad- 
dress of  that  young  lady's  friends,  as  I  should  prefer  di- 
rectly communicating  with  them,  with  a  view  to  co-opera- 
tion in  the  discovery  of  her  hiding-place.     I  need  scarcely 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  209 

say  I  have  no  wish  to  receive  any  reward.  I  entirely 
waive  any  claim  to  that,  if  you  will  oblige  me  by  putting 
me  into  connection  with  the  family." 

"Have  you  no  information  you  can  impart  to  us?" 
asked  Mr.  Scott. 

"None,"  I  answered  decisively.  "It  is  some  months 
since  I  saw  the  advertisement,  and  it  must  be  nine  months 
since  you  put  it  into  the  Times.  I  believe  it  is  nine 
months  since  the  young  lady  was  missing." 

"  About  that  time,"  he  said. 

"  Her  friends  must  have  suffered  great  anxiety,"  I  re- 
marked. 

"Very  great,  indeed,"  he  admitted. 

"  If  I  could  render  them  any  service  it  would  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me,"  I  continued ;  "  cannot  you  tell  me  where 
to  find  them?" 

"  We  are  authorized  to  receive  any  information,"  he- 
replied.  "  You  must  allow  me  to  ask  if  you  know  any- 
thing about  the  young  lady  in  question  ?  " 

"  My  object  is  to  combine  with  her  friends  in  seeking 
her,"  I  said  evasively.  "  I  really  cannot  give  you  that 
information;  but  if  you  will  put  me  into  communication 
with  them,  I  may  be  useful  to  them." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  candor,  "  of  course  the 
young  lady's  friends  are  anxious  to  keep  in  the  back- 
ground. It  is  not  a  pleasant  circumstance  to  occur  in  a 
family ;  and  if  possible  they  would  wish  her  to  be  restored 
to  them  without  any  eclat.  Of  course,  if  you  could  give 
us  any  definite  information  it  would  be  quite  another 
thing.  The  young  lady's  family  is  highly  connected. 
Have  you  seen  any  one  answering  to  the  description?  " 

"  It  is  a  very  common  one,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  seen 
scores  of  young  ladies  who  might  answer  to  it.  I  am 
14 


210  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

surprised  that  in  London  you  could  not  trace  her.     Did 
you  apply  to  the  police  ?  " 

"  The  police  are  blockheads,"  replied  Mr.  Scott.  "  Will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  look  if  there  is  any  one  in  the  outer 
office,  Mr.  Brown,  or  on  the  stairs?  I  believe  I  heard  a 
noise  outside." 

Mr.  Brown  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes;  but  his 
absence  did  not  interrupt  our  conversation.  There  was 
not  much  to  be  made  out  of  it  on  either  side,  for  we  were 
only  fencing  one  with  another.  I  learnt  nothing  about 
Olivia's  friends,  and  I  was  satisfied  he  had  learned  nothing 
about  her. 

At  last  we  parted  with  mutual  dissatisfaction;  and  I 
went  moodily  down-stairs,  followed  by  Jack.  We  drove 
back  to  Brook  Street,  to  spend  the  few  hours  that  re- 
mained before  the  train  started  for  Southampton. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Simmons,  as  Jack  paid  him  his  fare, 
with  a  small  tip  added  to  it,  "  I'm  half  afeard  I've  done 
some  mischief.  I've  been  turning  it  over  and  over  in  my 
head,  and  can't  exactly  see  the  rights  of  it.  A  gent,  with 
a  pen  behind  his  ear,  comes  down,  at  that  office  in  Gray's 
Inn  Road,  and  takes  my  number.  But  after  that  he  says 
a  civil  thing  or  two.  *  Fine  young  gents,'  he  says,  point- 
ing up  the  staircase.  '  Very  much  so,'  says  I.  *  Young 
doctors?'  he  says.  '  You're  right,'  I  says.  'I  guessed  so,' 
he  says;  'and  pretty  well  up  the  tree,  eh?'  'Ay,'  I  says; 
'  the  light-haired  gent  is  son  to  Dr.  Senior,  the  great  phee- 
seecian ;  and  the  other  he  comes  from  Guernsey,  which 
is  an  island  in  the  sea.'  'Jest  so/  he  says;  'I've  heard 
as  much.'     I  hope  I've  done  no  mischief,  doctor?" 

"  I  hope  not,  Simmons,"  answered  Jack ;  but  your 
tongue  hangs  too  loose,  my  man. — Look  out  for  a  squall 
on  the  Olivia  coast,  Martin,"  he  added. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  211 

My  anxiety  would  have  been  very  great  if  I  had  not 
been  returning  immediately  to  Guernsey.  But  once  there, 
and  in  communication  with  Tardif,  I  could  not  believe 
any  danger  would  threaten  Olivia  from  which  I  could  not 
protect  or  rescue  her.  She  was  of  age,  and  had  a  right 
to  act  for  herself.  With  two  such  friends  as  Tardif  and 
me,  no  one  could  force  her  away  from  her  chosen  home. 


212  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 


HOME    AGAIN. 


MY  mother  was  looking  out  for  me  when  I  reached 
home  the  next  morning.  I  had  taken  a  car  from 
the  pier-head  to  avoid  meeting  any  acquaintances ;  and 
hers  was  almost  the  first  familiar  face  I  saw.  It  was 
pallid  with  the  sickly  hue  of  a  confirmed  disease,  and  her 
eyes  were  much  sunken;  but  she  ran  across  the  room 
to  meet  me.  I  was  afraid  to  touch  her,  knowing  how  a 
careless  movement  might  cause  her  excruciating  pain; 
but  she  was  oblivious  of  everything  save  my  return,  and 
pressed  me  closer  and  closer  in  her  arms,  with  all  her  fail- 
ing strength ;  whilst  I  leaned  my  face  down  upon  her  dear 
head,  unable  to  utter  a  word. 

"  God  is  very  good  to  me,"  sobbed  my  mother. 

"  Is  he?  "  I  said,  my  voice  sounding  strange  to  my  own 
ears,  so  forced  and  altered  it  was. 

"  Very,  very  good,"  she  repeated.  "  He  has  brought 
you  back  to  me." 

"  Never  to  leave  you  again,  mother,"  I  said ;  "  never 
again!  " 

"No;  you  will  never  leave  me  alone  again  here,"  she 
whispered.     "Oh,  how  I  have  missed  you,  my  boy! " 

I  made  her  sit  down  on  the  sofa,  and  sat  beside  her, 
while  she  caressed  my  hand  with  her  thin  and  wasted 
fingers. 

I  must  put  an  end  to  this,  if  I  was  to  maintain  my  self- 
control. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  213 

"  Mother,'1  I  said,  "  you  forget  that  I  have  been  on  the 
sea  all  night,  and  have  not  had  my  breakfast  yet." 

"  The  old  cry,  Martin,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  Well, 
you  shall  have  your  breakfast  here,  and  I  will  wait  upon 
you  once  more." 

I  watched  her  furtively  as  she  moved  about,  not  with 
her  usual  quick  and  light  movements,  but  with  a  slow  and 
cautious  tread.  It  was  part  of  my  anguish  to  know,  as 
only  a  medical  man  can  know,  how  every  step  was  a  fresh 
pang  to  her.  She  sat  down  with  me  at  the  table,  though 
I  would  not  suffer  her  to  pour  out  my  coffee,  as  she 
wished  to  do.  There  was  a  divine  smile  upon  her  face ; 
yet  beneath  it  there  was  an  indication  of  constant  and 
terrible  pain  in  the  sunken  eyes  and  drawn  lips.  It  was 
useless  to  attempt  to  eat  with  that  smiling  face  opposite 
me.  I  drank  thirstily,  but  I  could  not  swallow  a  crumb. 
She  knew  what  it  meant,  and  her  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
me  with  a  heart-breaking  expression. 

That  mockery  of  a  meal  over,  she  permitted  me  to  lay 
her  down  on  the  sofa,  almost  as  submissively  as  a  tired 
child,  and  to  cover  her  with  an  eiderdown  quilt ;  for  her 
malady  made  her  shiver  with  its  deadly  coldness,  while 
she  could  not  bear  any  weight  upon  her.  My  father  was 
gone  out,  and  would  not  be  back  before  evening.  The 
whole  day  lay  before  us ;  I  should  have  my  mother  en- 
tirely to  myself. 

We  had  very  much  to  say  to  one  another ;  but  it  could 
only  be  said  at  intervals,  when  her  strength  allowed  of  it. 
We  talked  together,  more  calmly  than  I  could  have  be- 
lieved possible,  of  her  approaching  death;  and,  in  a 
stupor  of  despair,  I  owned  to  myself  and  her  that  there 
was  not  a  hope  of  her  being  spared  to  me  much  longer. 

"  I  have  longed  so,"  she  murmured,  "  to  see  my  boy  in 
a  home  of  his  own  before  I  died.     Perhaps  I  was  wrong, 


214 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


but  that  was  why  I  urged  On  your  marriage  with  Julia. 
You  will  have  no  real  home  after  I  am  gone,  Martin;  and 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  die  so  much  more  quietly  if  I  had 
some  knowledge  of  your  future  life.  Now  I  shall  know 
nothing.     I  think  that  is  the  sting  of  death  to  me." 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  as  you  wanted  it  to  be,"  I  said, 
never  feeling  so  bitterly  the  disappointment  I  had  caused 
her,  and  almost  grieved  that  I  had  ever  seen  Oiivia. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  all  for  the  best,"  she  answered  feebly. 
"  O  Martin !  I  have  seen  your  Olivia." 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"  I  did  so  want  to  see  her,"  she  continued,  "  though 
she  has  brought  us  all  into  such  trouble.  I  loved  her  be- 
cause you  love  her.  Johanna  went  with  me,  because  she 
is  such  a  good  judge,  you  know,  and  I  did  not  like  to  rely 
upon  my  own  feelings.  Appearances  are  very  much 
against  her;  but  she  is  very  engaging,  and  I  believe  she 
is  a  good  girl.     I  am  sure  she  is  good." 

"  I  know  she  is,"  I  said. 

"  We  talked  of  you,"  she  went  on ;  "  how  good  you  were 
to  her  that  week  in  the  spring.  She  had  never  been  quite 
unconscious,  she  thought;  but  she  had  seen  and  heard 
you  all  the  time,  and  knew  you  were  doing  your  utmost 
to  save  her.  I  believe  we  talked  more  of  you  than  of 
anything  else." 

That  was  very  likely,  I  knew,  as  far  as  my  mother  was 
concerned.  But  I  was  anxious  to  hear  whether  Olivia 
had  not  confided  to  her  more  of  her  secret  than  I  had 
yet  been  able  to  learn  from  other  sources.  To  a  woman 
like  my  mother  she  might  have  entrusted  all  her  history. 

"  Did  you  find  anything  out  about  her  friends  and  fam- 
ily? "     I  asked. 

"Not  much,"  she  answered.  "She  told  me  her  own 
mother  had  died  when  she  was  quite  a  child;  and  she  had 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


215 


a  step-mother  living,  who  has  been  the  ruin  of  her  life. 
That  was  her  expression.  '  She  has  been  the  ruin  of  my 
life!'  she  said;  and  she  cried  a  little,  Martin,  with  her 
head  upon  my  lap.  If  I  could  only  have  offered  her  a 
home  here,  and  promised  to  be  a  mother  to  her!  " 

"  God  bless  you,  my  darling  mother!  "  I  said. 

"  She  intends  to  stay  where  she  is  as  long  as  it  is  possi- 
ble," she  continued;  "but  she  told  me  she  wanted  work 
to  do — any  kind  of  work  by  which  she  could  earn  a  little 
money.  She  has  a  diamond  ring,  and  a  watch  and  chain, 
worth  a  hundred  pounds ;  so  she  must  have  been  used  to 
affluence.  Yet  she  spoke  as  if  she  might  have  to  live  in 
Sark  for  years.  It  is  a  very  strange  position  for  a  young 
girl." 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "you  do  not  know  how  all  this  weighs 
upon  me.  I  promised  Julia  to  give  her  up,  and  never  to 
see  her  again ;  but  it  is  almost  more  than  I  can  bear,  es- 
pecially now.  I  shall  be  as  friendless  and  homeless  as 
Olivia  by-and-by." 

I  had  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  she  pressed  my  face 
to  hers,  murmuring  those  soft,  fondling  words  which  a  man 
only  hears  from  his  mother's  lips.  I  knew  that  the  anguish 
of  her  soul  was  even  greater  than  my  own.  The  agitation 
was  growing  too  much  for  her,  and  would  end  in  an  ac- 
cess of  her  disease.     I  must  put  an  end  to  it  at  once. 

"  I  suppose  Julia  is  gone  to  the  new  house  now,"  I  said, 
in  a  calm  voice. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  but  she  could  say  no  more. 

"And  Miss  Daltrey  with  her?  "  I  pursued. 

The  mention  of  that  name  certainly  roused  my  mother 
more  effectually  than  anything  else  I  could  have  said. 
She  released  me  from  her  clinging  hands,  and  looked  up 
with  a  decided  expression  of  dislike  on  her  face. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.     "Julia  is  just  wrapped  up  in  her, 


216  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

though  why  I  cannot  imagine.  So  is  your  father.  But  I 
don't  think  you  will  like  her,  Martin;  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  taken  with  her." 

"  I  won't,  mother,"  I  said.  "  I  am  ready  to  hate  her, 
if  that  is  any  satisfaction  to  you." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  say  that,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone 
of  alarm.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  set  you  against  her,  not  in 
the  least,  my  boy.  Only  she  has  so  much  influence  over 
Julia  and  your  father;  and  I  do  not  want  you  to  go  over 
to  her  side.  I  know  I  am  very  silly;  but  she  always 
makes  my  flesh  creep  when  she  is  in  the  room." 

"  Then  she  shall  not  come  into  the  room,"  I  said. 

"  Martin,"  she  went  on,  "  why  does  it  rouse  one  up 
more  to  speak  evil  of  any  one  than  to  speak  good  of 
them?  Speaking  of  Kate  Daltrey  makes  me  feel  stronger 
than  talking  of  Olivia." 

I  laughed  a  little.  It  had  been  an  observation  of  mine, 
made  some  years  ago,  that  the  surest  method  of  consola- 
tion in  cases  of  excessive  grief,  was  the  introduction  of 
some  family  or  neighborly  gossip,  seasoned  slightly  with 
scandal.  The  most  vehement  mourning  had  been  turned 
into  another  current  of  thought  by  the  lifting  of  this  sluice. 

"  It  restores  the  balance  of  the  emotions,"  I  answered. 
"Anything  soft,  and  tender,  and  touching  makes  you  more 
sensitive.  A  person  like  Miss  Daltrey  acts  as  a  tonic; 
bitter,  perhaps,  but  invigorating." 

The  morning  passed  without  any  interruption ;  but  in 
the  afternoon  Grace  came  in,  with  a  face  full  of  grave  im- 
portance, to  announce  that  Miss  Dobree  had  called,  and 
desired  to  see  Mrs.  Dobree  alone.  "Quite  alone,"  re- 
peated Grace,  emphatically. 

"  I'll  go  up-stairs  to  my  own  room,"  I  said  to  my  mother. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  cannot,  Martin,"  she  answered  hesi- 
tatingly.    "  Miss  Daltrey  has  taken  possession  of  it,  and 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  217 

she  has  not  removed  all  her  things  yet.  She  and  Julia 
did  not  leave  till  late  last  night.  You  must  go  to  the 
spare  room." 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  kept  my  room  for  me, 
mother,"  I  said  reproachfully. 

"  So  I  would,"  she  replied,  her  lips  quivering,  "  but  Miss 
Daltrey  took  a  fancy  to  it,  and  your  father  and  Julia  made 
a  point  of  indulging  her.  I  really  think  Julia  would  have 
had  everything  belonging  to  you  swept  into  the  streets. 
It  was  very  hard  for  me,  Martin.  I  was  ten  times  more 
vexed  than  you  are  to  give  up  your  room  to  Miss  Daltrey. 
It  was  my  only  comfort  to  go  and  sit  there,  and  think  of 
my  dear  boy." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  at 
home  now,  and  you  will  never  be  left  alone  with  them 
again;  never  more,  mother." 

I  retreated  to  the  spare  room,  fully  satisfied  that  I 
should  dislike  Miss  Daltrey  quite  as  much  as  my  mother 
could  wish.  Finding  that  Julia  prolonged  her  visit  down- 
stairs, I  went  out  after  a  while  for  a  stroll  in  the  old  garden, 
where  the  trees  and  shrubs  had  grown  with  my  growth, 
and  were  as  familiar  as  human  friends  to  me.  I  visited 
Madam  in  her  stall,  and  had  a  talk  with  old  Pellet ;  and 
generally  established  my  footing  once  more  as  the  only 
son  of  the  house ;  not  at  all  either  as  if  I  were  a  prodigal 
son,  come  home  repentant.  I  was  resolved  not  to  play 
that  role,  for  had  I  not  been  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning? 

My  father  came  in  to  dinner;  but,  like  a  true  man  of 
the  world,  he  received  me  back  on  civil  and  equal  terms, 
not  alluding  beyond  a  word  or  two  to  my  long  absence. 
We  began  again  as  friends ;  and  our  mutual  knowledge  of 
my  mother's  fatal  malady  softened  our  hearts  and  man- 
ners towards  one  another.     Whenever  he  was  indoors  he 


2i8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

waited  upon  her  with  sedulous  attention.  But  for  the 
certainty  that  death  was  lurking  very  near  to  us,  I  should 
have  been  happier  in  my  home  than  I  had  ever  been  since 
that  momentous  week  in  Sark.  But  I  was  also  nearer  to 
Olivia,  and  every  throb  of  my  pulse  was  quickened  by  the 
mere  thought  of  that. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  219 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A   NEW    PATIENT. 

IN  one  sense  time  seemed  to  be  standing  still  with  me, 
so  like  were  the  days  that  followed  the  one  to  the 
other.  But  in  another  sense  those  days  fled  with  awful 
swiftness,  for  they  were  hurrying  us  both,  my  mother  and 
I,  to  a  great  gulf  which  would  soon,  far  too  soon,  lie  be- 
tween us. 

Every  afternoon  Julia  came  to  spend  an  hour  or  two 
with  my  mother;  but  her  arrival  was  always  formally  an- 
nounced, and  it  was  an  understood  thing  that  I  should 
immediately  quit  the  room,  to  avoid  meeting  her.  There 
was  an  etiquette  in  her  resentment  which  I  was  bound  to 
observe. 

What  our  circle  of  friends  thought,  had  become  a  mat- 
ter of  very  secondary  consideration  to  me;  but  there 
seemed  a  general  disposition  to  condone  my  offences,  in 
view  of  the  calamity  that  was  hanging  by  a  mere  thread 
above  me.  I  discovered  from  their  significant  remarks 
that  it  had  been  quite  the  fashion  to  visit  Sark  during  the 
summer,  by  the  Queen  of  the  Isles,  which  made  the  passage 
every  Monday;  and  that  Tardif's  cottage  had  been  an 
object  of  attraction  to  many  of  my  relatives  of  every  de- 
gree. Few  of  them  had  caught  even  a  glimpse  of  Olivia; 
and  I  suspected  that  she  had  kept  herself  well  out  of  sight 
on  those  days  when  the  weekly  steamer  flooded  the  island 
with  visitors. 

I  had  not  taken  up  any  of  my  old  patients  again,  for  I 


220  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

was  determined  that  everybody  should  feel  that  my  resi- 
dence at  home  was  only  temporary.  But  about  ten  days 
after  my  return  the  following  note  was  brought  to  me,  di- 
rected in  full  to  Dr.  Martin  Dobree: 

"A  lady  from  England,  who  is  only  a  visitor  in  Guern- 
sey, will  be  much  obliged  by  Dr.  Martin  Dobree  calling 
upon  her,  at  Rose  Villa,  Vauvert  Road ;  she  is  suffering 
from  a  slight  indisposition,  and  knowing  Dr.  Senior  by 
name  and  reputation,  she  would  feel  great  confidence  in 
the  skill  of  Dr.  Seniors  friend." 

I  wondered  for  an  instant  who  the  stranger  could  be, 
and  how  she  knew  the  Seniors;  but  as  there  could  be  no 
answer  to  these  queries  without  visiting  the  lady,  I  re- 
solved to  go.  Rose  Villa  was  a  house  where  the  rooms 
were  let  to  visitors  during  the  season,  and  the  Vauvert 
Road  was  scarcely  five  minutes'  walk  from  our  house. 
Julia  was  paying  her  daily  visit  to  my  mother,  and  I  was 
at  a  loss  for  something  to  do,  so  I  went  at  once. 

I  found  a  very  handsome,  fine-looking  woman;  dark, 
with  hair  and  eyes  as  black  as  a  gypsy's,  and  a  clear  olive 
complexion  to  match.  Her  forehead  was  low,  but  smooth 
and  well-shaped  ;  and  the  lower  part  of  her  face,  handsome 
as  it  was,  was  far  more  developed  than  the  upper.  There 
was  not  a  trace  of  refinement  about  her  features ;  yet  the 
coarseness  of  them  was  but  slightly  apparent  as  yet.  She 
did  not  strike  me  as  having  more  than  a  very  slight  ail- 
ment indeed,  though  she  dilated  fluently  about  her  symp- 
toms, and  affected  to  be  afraid  of  fever.  It  is  not  always 
possible  to  deny  that  a  woman  has  a  violent  headache ; 
but  where  the  puis*  is  all  right,  and  the  tongue  clean,  it 
is  clear  enough  that  there  is  not  anything  very  serious 
threatening  her.  My  new  patient  did  not  inspire  me  with 
much  sympathy ;  but  she  attracted  my  curiosity,  and  in- 
terested me  by  the  bold  style  of  her  beauty. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  221 

"You  Guernsey  people  are  very  stiff  with  strangers," 
she  remarked,  as  I  sat  opposite  to  her,  regarding  her  with 
that  close  observation  which  is  permitted  to  a  doctor. 

"  So  the  world  says,"  I  answered.  "  Of  course  I  am 
no  good  judge,  for  we  Guernsey  people  believe  ourselves 
as  perfect  as  any  class  of  the  human  family.  Certainly 
we  pride  ourselves  on  being  a  little  more  difficult  of  ap- 
proach than  the  Jersey  people.  Strangers  are  more  freely 
welcome  there  than  here,  unless  they  bring  introductions 
with  them.  If  you  have  any  introductions  you  will  find 
Guernsey  as  hospitable  a  spot  as  any  in  the  world." 

"I  have  been  here  a  week,"  she  replied,  pouting  her 
full  crimson  lips,  "  and  have  not  had  a  chance  of  speak- 
ing a  word,  except  to  strangers  like  myself  who  don't 
know  a  soul." 

That,  then,  was  the  cause  of  the  little  indisposition 
which  had  obtained  me  the  honor  of  attending  her.  I 
indulged  myself  in  a  mild  sarcasm  to  that  effect,  but  it 
was  lost  upon  her.  She  gazed  at  me  solemnly  with  her 
large  black  eyes,  which  shone  like  beads. 

"  I  am  really  ill,"  she  said,  "  but  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  not  seeing  anybody,  though  that's  dull.  There's 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  take  a  bath  in  the  morning  and 
a  drive  in  the  afternoon,  and  go  to  bed  very  early.  Good 
gracious!  it's  enough  to  drive  me  mad!  " 

"Try  Jersey,"  I  suggested. 

"No,  I'll  not  try  Jersey,"  she  said.  "I  mean  to  make 
my  way  here.  Don't  you  know  anybody,  doctor,  that 
would  take  pity  on  a  poor  stranger?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  no,"  I  answered. 

She  frowned  at  that  and  looked  disappointed.     I  v. 
about  to  ask  her  how  she  knew  the  Seniors,  when  she 
spoke  again. 

"  Do  you  have  many  visitors  come  to  Guernsey  late  in 
the  autumn,  as  late  as  October?  "  she  inquired. 


222  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 

"  Not  many,"  I  answered,  "  a  few  may  arrive  who  intend 
to  winter  here." 

"A  dear  young  friend  of  mine  came  here  last  autumn," 
she  said,  "  alone,  as  I  am,  and  I've  been  wondering  ever 
since  I've  been  here  however  she  would  get  along  among 
such  a  set  of  stiff,  formal,  stand-offish  folks.  She  had 
not  money  enough  for  a  dash,  or  that  would  make  a  differ- 
ence, I  suppose." 

"  Not  the  least,"  I  replied,  "  if  your  friend  came  without 
any  introductions." 

"  What  a  dreary  winter  she'd  have !  "  pursued  my  pa- 
tient, with  a  tone  of  exultation.  "  She  was  quite  young, 
and  as  pretty  as  a  picture.  All  the  young  men  would 
know  her,  I'll  be  bound,  and  you  among  them,  Dr.  Martin. 
Any  woman  who  isn't  a  fright  gets  stared  at  enough  to  be 
known  again." 

Could  this  woman  know  anything  of  Olivia?  I  looked 
at  her  more  earnestly  and  critically.  She  was  not  a  per- 
son I  should  like  Olivia  to  have  anything  to  do  with.  A 
coarse,  ill-bred,  bold  woman,  whose  eyes  met  mine  un- 
abashed, and  did  not  blink  under  my  scrutiny.  Could 
she  be  Olivia's  stepmother,  who  had  been  the  ruin  of  her 
life? 

"  I'd  bet  a  hundred  to  one  you  know  her,"  she  said, 
laughing  and  showing  all  her  white  teeth.  "A  girl  like 
her  couldn't  go  about  a  little,  poky  place  like  this  without 
all  the  young  men  knowing  her.  Perhaps  she  left  the 
island  in  the  spring.  I  have  asked  at  all  the  drapers' 
shops,  but  nobody  recollects  her.  I've  very  good  news 
for  her  if  I  could  find  her — a  slim,  middle-sized  girl,  with 
a  clear,  fair  skin,  and  gray  eyes,  and  hair  of  a  bright 
brown.     Stay,  I  can  show  you  her  photograph." 

She  put  into  my  hands  an  exquisite  portrait  of  Olivia, 
taken  in  Florence.     There  was  an  expression  of  quiet 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  223 

mournfulness  in  the  face,  which  touched  me  to  the  core 
of  my  heart.  I  could  not  put  it  down  and  speak  indiffer- 
ently about  it.  My  heart  beat  wildly,  and  I  felt  tempted 
to  run  off  with  the  treasure  and  return  no  more  to  this 
woman. 

"Ah!  you  recognize  her!"  she  exclaimed  triumph- 
antly. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  person  in  Guernsey,"  I  answered, 
looking  steadily  into  her  face.  A  sullen  and  gloomy  ex- 
pression came  across  it,  and  she  snatched  the  portrait  out 
of  my  hand. 

"  You  want  to  keep  it  a  secret,"  she  said,  "  but  I  defy 
you  to  do  it.  I  am  come  here  to  find  her,  and  find  her  I 
will.  She  hasn't  drowned  herself,  and  the  earth  hasn't 
swallowed  her  up.  I've  traced  her  as  far  as  here,  and 
that  I  tell  you.  She  crossed  in  the  Southampton  boat 
one  dreadfully  stormy  night  last  October — the  only  lady 
passenger — and  the  stewardess  recollects  her  well.  She 
landed  here.     You  must  know  something  about  her." 

"I  assure  you  1  never  saw  that  girl  here,"  I  replied 
evasively.     "  What  inquiries  have  you  made  after  her?  " 

"  I've  inquired  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere,"  she 
said.  "  I've  done  nothing  else  ever  since  I  came.  It  is 
of  great  importance  to  her,  as  well  as  to  me,  that  I  should 
find  her.  It's  a  very  anxious  thing  when  a  girl  like  that 
disappears,  and  is  never  heard  of  again,  all  because  she 
has  a  little  difference  with  her  friends.  If  you  could  help 
me  to  find  her  you  would  do  her  family  a  very  great 
service." 

"Why  do  you  fix  upon  me?"  I  inquired.  "  Why  did 
you  not  send  for  one  of  the  resident  doctors?  I  left 
Guernsey  some  time  ago." 

"You  were  here  last  winter,"  she  said,  "and  you're  a 
young  man,  and  would  notice  her  more." 


224 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"  There  are  other  young  doctors  in  Guernsey,"  I  re- 
marked. 

"  Ah,  but  you've  been  in  London,"  she  answered,  "  and 
I  know  something  of  Dr.  Senior.  When  you  are  in  a 
strange  place  you  catch  at  any  chance  of  an  acquaintance." 

"  Come,  be  candid  with  me,"  I  said.  "  Did  not  Messrs. 
Scott  and  Brown  send  you  here?  " 

The  suddenness  of  my  question  took  her  off  her  guard 
and  startled  her.  She  hesitated,  stammered,  and  finally 
denied  it  with  more  than  natural  emphasis. 

"  I  could  take  my  oath  I  don't  know  any  such  persons," 
she  answered.  "  I  don't  know  who  you  mean,  or  what 
you  mean.  All  I  want  is  quite  honest.  There  is  a  for- 
tune waiting  for  that  poor  girl,  and  I  want  to  take  her 
back  to  those  who  love  her,  and  are  ready  to  forgive  and 
forget  everything.  I  feel  sure  you  know  something  of 
her.  But  nobody  except  me  and  her  other  friends  have 
anything  to  with  it." 

"Well,"  I  said,  rising  to  take  my  leave,  "all  the  in- 
formation I  can  give  you  is,  that  I  never  saw  such  a  per- 
son here,  either  last  winter  or  since.  It  is  quite  possible 
she  went  on  to  Jersey,  or  to  Granville,  when  the  storm 
was  over.  That  she  did  not  stay  in  Guernsey  I  am  quite 
sure." 

I  went  away  in  a  fever  of  anxiety.  The  woman,  who 
was  certainly  not  a  lady,  had  inspired  me  with  a  repug- 
nance that  I  could  not  describe.  There  was  an  ingrain 
coarseness  about  her — a  vulgarity  excessively  distasteful 
to  me  as  in  any  way  connected  with  Olivia.  The  mystery 
which  surrounded  her  was  made  the  deeper  by  it.  Surely 
this  person  could  not  be  related  to  Olivia!  I  tried  to 
guess  in  what  relationship  to  her  she  could  possibly  stand. 
There  was  the  indefinable  delicacy  and  refinement  of  a 
lady,  altogether  independent  of  her  surroundings,  so  ap- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  225 

parent  in  Olivia  that  I  could  not  imagine  her  as  connected 
by  blood  with  this  woman.  Yet  why  and  how  should  such 
a  person  have  any  right  to  pursue  her?  I  felt  more  chafed 
than  I  had  ever  done  about  Olivia's  secret. 

I  tried  to  satisfy  myself  with  the  reflection  that  I  had 
put  Tardif  on  his  guard,  and  that  he  would  protect  her. 
But  that  did  not  set  my  mind  at  ease.  I  never  knew  a 
mother  yet  who  believed  that  any  other  woman  could 
nurse  her  sick  child  as  well  as  herself;  and  I  could  not 
be  persuaded  that  even  Tardif  would  shield  Olivia  from 
danger  and  trouble  as  I  could,  if  I  were  only  allowed  the 
privilege.  Yet  my  promise  to  Julia  bound  me  to  hold  no 
communication  with  her.  Besides,  this  was  surely  no  time 
to  occupy  myself  with  any  other  woman  in  the  world  than 
my  mother.  She  herself,  good,  and  amiable,  and  self- 
forgetting  as  she  was,  might  feel  a  pang  of  jealousy,  and 
I  ought  not  to  be  the  one  to  add  a  single  drop  of  bitter- 
ness to  the  cup  she  was  drinking. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  was  distracted  at  the  thought  that 
this  stranger  might  discover  the  place  of  Olivia's  retreat, 
from  which  there  was  no  chance  of  escape  if  it  were  once 
discovered.  A  hiding-place  like  Sark  becomes  a  trap  as 
soon  as  it  is  traced  out.  Should  this  woman  catch  the 
echo  of  those  rumors  which  had  circulated  so  widely 
through  Guernsey  less  than  three  months  ago — and  any 
chance  conversation  with  one  of  our  own  people  might 
bring  them  to  her  ears — then  farewell  to  Olivia's  safety 
and  concealment.  Here  was  the  squall  which  had  been 
foretold  by  Jack.  I  cursed  the  idle  curiosity  of  mine 
which  had  exposed  her  to  this  danger. 

I  had  strolled  down  some  of  the  quieter  streets  of  the 

town  while  I  was  turning  this  affair  over  in  my  mind,  and 

now  as  I  crossed  the  end  of  Rue  Haute,  I  caught  sight  of 

Kate  Daltrey  turning  into  a  milliner's  shop.     There  was 

*5 


226  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

every  reasonable  probability  that  she  would  not  come  out 
again  soon,  for  I  saw  a  bonnet  reached  out  of  the  window. 
If  she  were  gone  to  buy  a  bonnet  she  was  safe  for  half  an 
hour,  and  Julia  would  be  alone.  I  had  felt  a  strong  desire 
to  see  Julia  ever  since  I  returned  home.  My  mind  was 
made  up  on  the  spot.  I  knew  her  so  well  as  to  be  certain 
that  if  I  found  her  in  a  gentle  mood  she  would,  at  any 
rate,  release  me  from  the  promise  she  had  extorted  from 
me  when  she  was  in  the  first  heat  of  her  anger  and  dis- 
appointment. It  was  a  chance  worth  trying.  If  I  were 
free  to  declare  to  Olivia  my  love  for  her,  I  should  establish 
a  claim  upon  her  full  confidence,  and  we  could  laugh  at 
further  difficulties.  She  was  of  age,  and  therefore  mis- 
tress of  herself.  Her  friends,  represented  by  this  odious 
woman,  could  have  no  legal  authority  over  her. 

I  turned  shortly  up  a  side  street,  and  walked  as  fast  as 
I  could  toward  the  house  which  was  to  have  been  our 
home.  By  a  bold  stroke  I  might  reach  Julia's  presence. 
I  rang,  and  the  maid  who  answered  the  bell  opened  wide 
eyes  of  astonishment  at  seeing  me  there.  I  passed  by 
quickly. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  Miss  Dobree,"  I  said.  "  Is  she  in 
the  drawing-room?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answered,  in  a  hesitating  tone. 

I  waited  for  nothing  more,  but  knocked  at  the  drawing- 
room  door  for  myself,  and  heard  Julia  call,  "  Come  in." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  227 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

SET    FREE. 

JULIA  looked  very  much  the  same  as  she  had  done 
that  evening  when  I  came  reluctantly  to  tell  her  that 
my  heart  was  not  in  her  keeping,  but  belonged  to  another. 
She  wore  the  same  sort  of  fresh,  light  muslin  dress,  with 
ribbons  and  lace  about  it,  and  she  sat  near  the  window 
with  a  piece  of  needlework  in  her  hands;  yet  she  was  not 
sewing,  and  her  hands  lay  listlessly  on  her  lap.  But  for 
this  attitude  of  dejection,  I  could  have  imagined  that  it 
was  the  same  day  and  the  same  hour,  and  that  she  was 
still  ignorant  of  the  change  in  my  feelings  toward  her.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  our  perverse  fate,  we  should  now  be 
returning  from  our  wedding  trip,  and  receiving  the  con- 
gratulations of  our  friends.  A  mingled  feeling  of  sorrow, 
pity,  and  shame  prevented  me  from  advancing  into  the 
room.  She  looked  up  to  see  who  was  standing  in  the 
doorway,  and  my  appearance  there  evidently  alarmed  and 
distressed  her. 

"Martin!  "  she  cried. 

"  May  I  come  in  and  speak  to  you,  Julia?  "  I  asked. 

"Is  my  aunt  worse?"  she  inquired  hurriedly.  "Are 
you  come  to  fetch  me  to  her?  " 

"No,  no,  Julia,"  I  said;  "my  mother  is  as  well  as 
usual,  I  hope.  But  surely  you  will  let  me  speak  to  you 
after  all  this  time?" 

"  It  is  not  a  long  time,"  she  answered. 


228  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Has  it  not  been  long  to  you?  "  I  asked.  "  It  seems 
years  to  me.  All  life  has  changed  for  me.  I  had  no  idea 
then  of  my  mother's  illness." 

"  Nor  I,"  she  said,  sighing  deeply. 

"  If  I  had  known  it/'  I  continued,  "  all  this  might  not 
have  happened.  Surely  the  troubles  I  shall  have  to  bear 
must  plead  with  you  for  me !  " 

"  Yes,  Martin,"  she  answered ;  "  yes,  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you." 

She  came  forward  and  offered  me  her  hand,  but  with- 
out looking  into  my  face.  I  saw  that  she  had  been  cry- 
ing, for  her  eyes  were  red.  In  a  tone  of  formal  politeness 
she  asked  me  if  I  would  not  sit  down.  I  considered  it 
best  to  remain  standing,  as  an  intimation  that  I  should 
not  trouble  her  with  my  presence  for  long. 

"  My  mother  loves  you  very  dearly,  Julia,"  I  ventured 
to  say,  after  a  long  pause,  which  she  did  not  seem  inclined 
to  break.  I  had  no  time  to  lose,  lest  Kate  Daltrey  should 
come  in,  and  it  was  a  very  difficult  subject  to  approach. 

"  Not  more  than  I  love  her,"  she  said  warmly.  "Aunt 
Dobree  has  been  as  good  to  me  as  any  mother  could  have 
been.  I  love  her  as  dearly  as  my  mother.  Have  you 
seen  her  since  I  was  with  her  this  afternoon?  " 

"  No.  I  have  just  come  from  visiting  a  very  curious 
patient,  and  have  not  been  home  yet." 

I  hoped  Julia  would  catch  at  the  word  curious,  and 
make  some  inquiries  which  would  open  a  way  for  me ; 
but  she  seemed  not  to  hear  it,  and  another  silence  fell 
upon  us  both.  For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  utter  a 
syllable  of  what  I  had  come  to  say. 

"  We  were  talking  of  you,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  hur- 
ried and  thick  voice.  "Aunt  is  in  great  sorrow  about  you. 
It  preys  upon  her  day  and  night  that  you  will  be  dread- 
fully alone    when    she    is    gone,   and — and — Martin,   she 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  229 

wishes  to  know  before  she  dies  that  the  girl  in  Sark  will 
become  your  wife/' 

The  words  struck  like  a  shot  upon  my  ear  and  brain. 
What !  had  Julia  and  my  mother  been  arranging  between 
them  my  happiness  and  Olivia's  safety  that  very  after- 
noon? Such  generosity  was  incredible.  I  could  not  be- 
lieve I  had  heard  aright. 

"  She  has  seen  the  girl,"  continued  Julia,  in  the  same 
husky  tone,  which  she  could  not  compel  to  be  clear  and 
calm,  "and  she  is  convinced  she  is  no  adventuress. 
Johanna  says  the  same.  They  tell  me  it  is  unreasonable 
and  selfish  in  me  to  doom  you  to  the  dreadful  loneliness 
I  feel.  If  aunt  Dobree  asked  me  to  pluck  out  my  right 
eye  just  now,  I  could  not  refuse.  It  is  something  like 
that,  but  I  have  promised  to  do  it.  I  release  you  from 
every  promise  you  ever  made  to  me,  Martin." 

"Julia!  "  I  cried,  crossing  to  her  and  bending  over  her 
with  more  love  and  admiration  that  I  had  ever  felt  before ; 
"  this  is  very  noble,  very  generous." 

"No,"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears;  "I  am  neither 
noble  nor  generous.  I  do  it  because  I  cannot  help  my- 
self, with  aunt's  white  face  looking  so  imploringly  at  me. 
I  do  not  give  you  up  willingly  to  that  girl  in  Sark.  I  hope 
I  shall  never  see  her  or  you  for  many,  many  years.  Aunt 
says  you  will  have  no  chance  of  marrying  her  till  you  are 
settled  in  a  practice  somewhere ;  but  you  are  free  to  ask 
her  to  be  your  wife.  Aunt  wants  you  to  have  somebody 
to  love  you  and  care  for  you  after  she  is  gone,  as  I  should 
have  done." 

"  But  you  are  generous  to  consent  to  it,"  I  said  again. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  wiping  her  eyes  and  lifting  up  her 
head;  "I  thought  I  was  generous;  I  thought  I  was  a 
Christian,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  be  a  Christian  when  one 
is  mortified  and  humbled  and  wounded.     I  am  a  great 


230 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


disappointment  to  myself;  quite  as  great  as  you  are  to 
me.  I  fancied  myself  very  superior  to  what  I  am.  I 
hope  you  may  not  be  disappointed  in  that  girl  in  Sark." 

The  latter  words  were  not  spoken  in  an  amiable  tone, 
but  this  was  no  time  for  criticising  J  alia.  She  had  made 
a  tremendous  sacrifice,  that  was  evident;  and  a  whole 
sacrifice  without  any  blemish  is  very  rarely  offered  up 
nowadays,  however  it  may  have  been  in  olden  times.  I 
could  not  look  at  her  dejected  face  and  gloomy  expression 
without  a  keen  sense  of  self-reproach. 

"Julia,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  never  be  quite  happy — no,  not 
with  Olivia  as  my  wife — unless  you  and  I  are  friends. 
We  have  grown  up  together  too  much  as  brother  and 
sister  for  me  to  have  you  taken  right  out  of  my  life  with- 
out a  feeling  of  great  loss.  It  is  I  who  would  lose  a  right 
hand  or  a  right  eye  in  losing  you.  Some  day  we  must  be 
friends  again  as  we  used  to  be." 

"It  is  not  very  likely,"  she  answered;  "but  you  had 
better  go  now,  Martin.  It  is  very  painful  to  me  for  you 
to  be  here." 

I  could  not  stay  any  longer  after  that  dismissal.  Her 
hand  was  lying  on  her  lap,  and  I  stooped  down  and  kissed 
it,  seeing  on  it  still  the  ring  I  had  given  her  when  we  were 
first  engaged.  She  did  not  look  at  me  or  bid  me  good- 
by ;  and  I  went  out  of  the  house,  my  veins  tingling  with 
shame  and  gladness.  I  met  Captain  Carey  coming  up 
the  street,  with  a  basket  of  fine  grapes  in  his  hand.  He 
appeared  very  much  amazed. 

"Why,  Martin!  "  he  exclaimed,  "can  you  have  been  to 
see  Julia?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Reconciled?"  he  said,  arching  his  eyebrows,  which 
were  still  dark  and  bushy,  though  his  hair  was  grizzled. 

"  Not  exactly."  I  replied,  with  a  stiff  smile  exceedingly 


-THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  231 

difficult  to  force ;  "  nothing  of  the  sort  indeed.  Captain, 
when  will  you  take  me  across  to  Sark? '' 

"Come,  come,  none  of  that,  Martin,"  he  said;  "you're 
on  honor,  you  know.  You  are  pledged  to  poor  Julia  not 
to  visit  Sark  again." 

"She  has  just  set  me  free,  I  answered;  and  out  of  the 
fulness  of  my  heart  I  told  him  all  that  had  just  passed  be- 
tween us.  His  eyes  glistened,  though  a  film  came  across 
them  which  he  had  to  wipe  away. 

"  She  is  a  noble  girl,"  he  ejaculated ;  "  a  fine,  generous, 
noble  girl.  I  really  thought  she'd  break  her  heart  over 
you  at  first,  but  she  will  come  round  again  now.  We  will 
have  a  run  over  to  Sark  to-morrow." 

I  felt  myself  lifted  into  a  third  heaven  of  delight  all 
that  evening.  My  mother  and  I  talked  of  no  one  but 
Olivia.  The  present  rapture  so  completely  eclipsed  the 
coming  sorrow,  that  I  forgot  how  soon  it  would  be  upon 
me.  I  remembered  now  that  my  mother  neither  by  word 
nor  sign  suffered  me  to  be  reminded  of  her  illness.  She 
listened  to  my  rhapsodies,  smiling  with  her  divine,  pa- 
thetic smile.  There  is  no  love,  no  love  at  all,  like  that  of 
a  mother! 


232 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

A   BRIGHT   BEGINNING. 

NOT  the  next  day,  which  was  wet  and  windy,  but  the 
day  following  did  Captain  Carey  take  me  over  to 
Sark.  I  had  had  time  to  talk  over  all  my  plans  for  the 
future  with  my  mother,  and  I  bore  with  me  many  mes- 
sages from  her  to  the  girl  I  was  about  to  ask  to  become 
my  wife. 

Coxcomb  as  I  was,  there  was  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that 
I  could  win  Olivia. 

To  explain  my  coxcombry  is  not  a  very  easy  task.  I 
do  not  suppose  I  had  a  much  higher  sense  of  my  own 
merits  than  such  as  is  common  to  man.  I  admit  I  was 
neither  shy  nor  nervous  on  the  one  hand,  but  on  the  other 
I  was  not  blatantly  self-conceited.  It  is  possible  that 
my  course  through  life  hitherto — first,  as  an  only  son 
adored  by  his  mother,  and  secondly,  as  an  exceedingly 
eligible  parti  in  a  circle  where  there  were  very  few  young 
men  of  my  rank  and  family,  and  where  there  were  twenty 
or  more  marriageable  women  to  one  unmarried  man — had 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  my  feeling  of  security  with  regard 
to  this  unknown,  poor,  and  friendless  stranger.  But  added 
to  this  there  was  Olivia's  own  frank,  unconcealed  pleasure 
in  seeing  me  whenever  I  had  had  a  chance  of  visiting  her, 
and  the  freedom  with  which  she  had  always  conversed 
with  me  upon  any  topic  except  that  of  her  own  mysterious 
position.  I  was  sure  I  had  made  a  favorable  impression 
upon  her.     In  fact,  when  I  had  been  talking  with  her  I 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  233 

had  given  utterance  to  brighter  and  clearer  thoughts  than 
I  had  ever  been  conscious  of  before.  A  word  from  her, 
a  simple  question,  seemed  to  touch  the  spring  of  some 
hidden  treasure  of  my  brain,  and  I  had  surprised  myself 
by  what  I  had  been  enabled  to  say  to  her.  It  was  this, 
probably  more  than  her  beauty,  which  had  drawn  me  to 
her  and  made  me  happy  in  her  companionship.  No,  I 
had  never  shown  myself  contemptible,  but  quite  the  re- 
verse, in  her  presence.  No  doubt  or  misgiving  assailed 
me  as  the  yacht  carried  us  out  of  St.  Sampson's  Harbor. 

Swiftly  we  ran  across,  with  a  soft  wind  drifting  over  the 
sea  and  playing  upon  our  faces,  and  a  long  furrow  lying 
in  the  wake  of  our  boat.  It  was  almost  low  tide  when  we 
reached  the  island — the  best  time  for  seeing  the  cliffs. 
They  were  standing  well  out  of  the  water,  scarred  and 
chiselled  with  strange  devices,  and  glowing  in  the  August 
sunlight  with  tints  of  the  most  gorgeous  coloring,  while 
their  feet,  swathed  with  brown  seaweed,  were  glistening 
with  the  dashing  of  the  waves.  I  had  seen  nothing  like 
them  since  I  had  seen  them  last,  and  the  view  of  these 
wild,  rugged  crags,  with  their  regal  robes  of  amber  and 
gold  and  silver,  almost  oppressed  me  with  delight.  If  I 
could  but  see  Olivia  on  this  summit! 

The  currents  and  the  wind  had  been  in  favor  of  our 
running  through  the  channel  between  Sark  and  Jethou, 
and  so  landing  at  the  Creux  Harbor,  on  the  opposite 
coast  of  the  island  to  the  Havre  Gosselin. 

I  crossed  in  headlong  haste,  for  I  was  afraid  of  meet- 
ing with  Julia's  friends,  or  some  of  my  own  acquaintances 
who  were  spending  the  summer  months  there.  I  found 
Tardifs  house  completely  deserted.  The  only  sign  of  life 
was  a  family  of  hens  clucking  about  the  fold. 

The  door  was  not  fastened,  and  I  entered,  but  there 
was  nobody  there.     I  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen 


234 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


and  called,  but  there  was  no  answer.  Olivia's  door  was 
ajar,  and  I  pushed  it  a  little  more  open.  There  lay  books 
I  had  lent  her  on  the  table,  and  her  velvet  slippers  were 
on  the  floor,  as  if  they  had  only  just  been  taken  off.  Very 
worn  and  brown  were  the  little  slippers,  but  they  reassured 
me  she  had  been  wearing  them  a  short  time  ago. 

I  returned  through  the  fold  and  mounted  the  bank  that 
sheltered  the  house,  to  see  if  I  could  discover  any  trace 
of  her,  or  Tardif,  or  his  mother.  All  the  place  seemed 
left  to  itself.  Tardif's  sheep  were  browsing  along  the 
cliffs,  and  his  cows  were  tethered  here  and  there,  but  no- 
body appeared  to  be  tending  them.  At  last  I  caught  sight 
of  a  head  rising  from  behind  a  crag,  the  rough  shock  head 
of  a  boy,  and  I  shouted  to  him,  making  a  trumpet  with 
my  hands. 

"Where  is  neighbor  Tardif?"  I  called. 

"  Down  below  there,"  he  shouted  back  again,  pointing 
downward  to  the  Havre  Gosselin.  I  did  not  wait  for  any 
further  information,  but  darted  off  down  the  long,  steep 
gully  to  the  little  strand,  where  the  pebbles  were  being 
lapped  lazily  by  the  ripple  of  the  lowering  tide.  Tardif's 
boat  was  within  a  stone's  throw,  and  I  saw  Olivia  sitting 
in  the  stern  of  it.  I  shouted  again  with  a  vehemence 
which  made  them  both  start. 

"  Come  back,  Tardif,"  I  cried,  "  and  take  me  with 
you." 

The  boat  was  too  far  off  for  me  to  see  how  my  sudden 
appearance  affected  Olivia.  Did  she  turn  white  or  red  at 
the  sound  of  my  voice?  By  the  time  it  neared  the  shore, 
and  I  plunged  in  knee-deep  to  meet  it,  her  face  was  bright 
with  smiles,  and  her  hands  were  stretched  out  to  help  me 
over  the  boat's  side. 

If  Tardif  had  not  been  there  I  should  have  kissea  them 
both.     As  it  was,  I  tucked  up  my  wet  legs  out  of  reach 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  235 

of  her  dress,  and  took  an  oar,  unable  to  utter  a  word  of 
the  gladness  I  felt. 

I  recovered  myself  in  a  few  seconds,  and  touched  her 
hand,  and  grasped  Tardifs  with  almost  as  much  force  as 
he  gripped  mine. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to?  "  I  asked,  addressing  neither 
of  them  in  particular. 

"  Tardif  was  going  to  row  me  past  the  entrance  to  the 
Gouliot  Caves,"  answered  Olivia,  "  but  we  will  put  it  off 
now.  We  will  return  to  the  shore,  and  hear  all  your  ad- 
ventures, Dr.  Martin.  You  come  upon  us  like  a  phantom 
and  take  an  oar  in  ghostly  silence.  Are  you  really,  truly 
there?" 

"  I  am  no  phantom,"  I  said,  touching  her  hand  again. 
"  No,  we  will  not  go  back  to  the  shore.  Tardif  shall  row 
us  to  the  caves,  and  I  will  take  you  into  them,  and  then 
we  two  will  return  along  the  cliffs.  Would  you  like  that, 
mam'zelle?  " 

"Very  much,"  she  answered,  the  smile  still  playing 
about  her  face.  It  was  brown  and  freckled  with  exposure 
to  the  sun,  but  so  full  of  health  and  life  as  to  be  doubly 
beautiful  to  me,  who  saw  so  many  wan  and  sickly  faces. 
There  was  a  bloom  and  freshness  about  her,  telling  of 
pure  air,  and  peaceful  hours  and  days  spent  in  the  sun- 
shine. I  was  seated  on  the  bench  before  Tardif,  with  my 
back  to  him,  and  Olivia  was  in  front  of  me — she,  and  the 
gorgeous  cliffs,  and  the  glistening  sea,  and  the  cloudless 
sky  overhead.  No,  there  is  no  language  on  earth  that 
could  paint  the  rapture  of  that  moment. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Tardifs  deep,  grave  voice  behind  me, 
"your  mother,  is  she  better?" 

It  was  like  the  sharp  prick  of  a  poniard,  which  presently 
you  knew  must  pierce  your  heart. 

The  one  moment  of  rapture  had  fled.     The  Paradise 


236  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

that  had  been  about  me  for  an  instant,  with  no  nint  of 
pain,  faded  out  of  my  sight.  But  Olivia  remained,  and 
her  face  grew  sad,  and  her  voice  low  and  sorrowful,  as  she 
leaned  forward  to  speak  to  me. 

"  I  have  been  so  grieved  for  you,"  she  said.  "  Your 
mother  came  to  see  me  once,  and  promised  to  be  my 
friend.     Is  it  true?     Is  she  so  very  ill?  " 

"  Quite  true,1'  I  answered  in  a  choking  voice. 

We  said  no  more  for  some  minutes,  and  the  splash  of 
the  oars  in  the  water  was  the  only  sound.  Olivia's  air 
continued  sad,  and  her  eyes  were  downcast,  as  if  she 
shrank  from  looking  me  in  the  face. 

"  Pardon  me,  doctor,"  said  Tardif,  in  our  own  dialect, 
which  Olivia  could  not  understand,  "  I  have  made  you 
sorry  when  you  were  having  a  little  gladness.  Is  your 
mother  very  ill?  " 

"  There  is  no  hope,  Tardif,"  I  answered,  looking  round 
at  his  honest  and  handsome  face,  full  of  concern  for  me. 

"May  I  speak  to  you  as  an  old  friend?"  he  asked. 
"You  love  mam'zelle,  and  you  are  come  to  tell  her  so?" 

"  What  makes  you  think  that?  "  I  said. 

"  I  see  it  in  your  face,"  he  answered,  lowering  his  voice, 
though  he  knew  Olivia  could  not  tell  what  we  were  saying. 
"Your  marriage  with  mademoiselle  your  cousin  was 
broken  off — why?  Do  you  suppose  I  did  not  guess?  I 
knew  it  from  the  first  week  you  stayed  with  us.  Nobody 
could  see  mam'zelle  as  we  see  her  without  loving  her." 

"  The  Sark  folks  say  you  are  in  love  with  her  yourself, 
Tardif,"  I  said,  almost  against  my  will,  and  certainly  with- 
out any  intention  beforehand  of  giving  expression  to  such 
a  rumor. 

His  lips  contracted  and  his  face  saddened,  but  he  met 
my  eyes  frankly. 

"It  is  true,"  he  answered;  "but  what  then?     If  it  had 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  237 

only  pleased  God  to  make  me  like  you,  or  that  she  should 
be  of  my  class,  I  would  have  done  my  utmost  to  win  her. 
But  that  is  impossible!  See,  I  am  nothing  else  than  a 
servant  in  her  eyes.  I  do  not  know  how  to  be  anything 
else,  and  I  am  content.  She  is  as  far  above  my  reach  as 
one  of  the  white  clouds  up  yonder.  To  think  of  myself 
as  anything  but  her  servant  would  be  irreligious." 

"You  are  a  good  fellow,  Tardif,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  God  is  the  judge  of  that,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 
"  MarrTzelle  thinks  of  me  only  as  her  servant.  '  My  good 
Tardif,  do  this,  or  do  that.'  I  like  it.  I  do  not  know 
any  happier  moment  than  when  I  hold  her  little  boots  in 
my  hand  and  brush  them.  You  see  she  is  as  helpless  and 
tender  as  my  little  wife  was ;  but  she  is  very  much  higher 
than  my  poor  little  wife.  Yes,  I  love  her  as  I  love  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  white  clouds,  and  the  stars  shining  in 
the  night.  But  it  will  be  quite  different  between  her  and 
you." 

"  I  hope  so,"  I  thought  to  myself. 

"  You  do  not  feel  like  a  servant,"  he  continued,  his  oars 
dipping  a  little  too  deeply  and  setting  the  boat  a-rocking. 
"By-and-by,  when  you  are  married,  she  will  look  up  to 
you  and  obey  you.  I  do  not  understand  altogether  why 
the  good  God  has  made  this  difference  between  us  two; 
but  I  see  it  and  feel  it.  It  would  be  fitting  for  you  to  be 
her  husband ;  it  would  be  a  shame  for  her  to  become  my 
wife." 

"Are  you  grieved  about  it,  Tardif  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  no,"  he  answered;  "we  have  always  been  good 
friends,  you  and  I,  doctor.  No,  you  shall  marry  her,  and 
I  will  be  happy.  I  will  come  to  visit  you  sometimes,  and 
she  will  call  me  her  good  Tardif.     That  is  enough  for  me." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  asked  Olivia  It  was 
impossible  to  tell  her,  or  to  continue  the  conversation. 


23 8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Moreover,  the  narrow  channel  between  Breckhou  and 
Sark  is  so  strong  in  its  current,  that  it  required  both  cau- 
tion and  skill  to  steer  the  boat  amid  the  needle-like  points 
of  the  rocks.  At  last  we  gained  one  of  the  entrances  to 
the  caves,  but  we  could  not  pull  the  boat  quite  up  to  the 
strand.  A  few  paces  of  shallow  water,  clear  as  glass,  with 
pebbles  sparkling  like  gems  beneath  it,  lay  between  us 
and  the  caves. 

"  Tardif,"  I  said,  "  you  need  not  wait  for  us.  We  will 
return  by  the  cliffs." 

"You  know  the  caves  as  well  as  I  do?"  he  replied, 
though  in  a  doubtful  tone. 

"All  right!  "  I  said,  as  I  swung  over  the  side  of  the  boat 
into  the  water,  when  I  found  myself  knee-deep.  Olivia 
looked  from  me  to  Tardif  with  a  flushed  face — an  augury 
that  made  my  pulses  leap.  Why  should  her  face  never 
change  when  he  carried  her  in  his  arms?  Why  should 
she  shrink  from  me? 

"Are  you  as  strong  as  Tardif  ? "  she  asked,  lingering 
and  hesitating  before  she  would  trust  herself  to  me. 

"Almost,  if  not  altogether,"  I  answered  gayly.  "  I'm 
strong  enough  to  undertake  to  carry  you  without  wetting 
the  soles  of  your  feet.  Come,  it  is  not  more  than  half  a 
dozen  yards." 

She  was  standing  on  the  bench  I  had  just  left,  looking 
down  at  me  with  the  same  vivid  flush  upon  her  cheeks 
and  forehead,  and  with  an  uneasy  expression  in  her  eyes. 
Before  she  could  speak  again  I  put  my  arms  round  her, 
and  lifted  her  down. 

"  You  are  quite  as  light  as  a  feather,"  I  said,  laughing, 
as  I  carried  her  to  the  strip  of  moist  and  humid  strand 
under  the  archway  in  the  rocks.  As  I  put  her  down  I 
looked  back  to  Tardif,  and  saw  him  regarding  us  with 
grave  and  sorrowful  eyes. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


239 


"Adieu!  "  he  cried;  "I  am  going  to  look  after  my  lob- 
ster-pots.    God  bless  you  both !  " 

He  spoke  the  last  words  heartily;  and  we  stood  watch- 
ing him  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight.  Then  we  went  on 
into,  the  caves. 


24o  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE    GOULIOT    CAVES. 

OLIVIA  was  very  silent. 
The  coast  of  Sark  shows  some  of  the  most  fantastic 
workmanship  of  the  sea,  but  the  Gouliot  Caves  are  its 
wildest  and  maddest  freak.  A  strong,  swift  current  sets 
in  from  the  south-west,  and  being  lashed  into  a  giddy  fury 
by  the  lightest  south-west  wind,  it  has  hewn  out  of  the 
rock  a  series  of  cells,  and  grottoes,  and  alcoves,  some  of 
them  running  far  inland,  in  long,  vaulted  passages  and 
corridors,  with  now  and  then  a  shaft  or  funnel  in  the 
rocky  roof,  through  which  the  light  streams  down  into  re- 
cesses far  from  the  low  porches,  which  open  from  the  sea. 
Here  and  there  a  crooked,  twisted  tunnel  forms  a  skylight 
overhead,  and  the  blue  heavens  look  down  through  it  like 
a  far-off  eye.  You  cannot  number  the  caverns  and  niches. 
Everywhere  the  sea  has  bored  alleys  and  galleries,  or  hewn 
out  solemn  aisles,  with  arches  intersecting  each  other,  and 
running  off  intocapricious  furrows  and  mouldings.  There 
are  innumerable  refts,  and  channels,  and  crescents,  and 
cupolas,  half-finished  or  only  hinted  at.  There  are  cham- 
bers of  every  height  and  shape,  leading  into  one  another 
by  irregular  portals,  but  all  rough  and  rude,  as  though 
there  might  have  been  an  original  plan,  from  which,  while 
the  general  arrangement  is  kept,  every  separate  stroke 
perversely  diverged. 

But  another,   and  not  a   secondary,   curiosity  of   this 
ocean  labyrinth  is  that  it  is  the  habitat  of  a  multitude  of 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  241 

marine  creatures,  not  to  be  seen  at  home  in  many  other 
places.  Except  twice  a  month,  at  the  neap  tides,  the 
lower  chambers  are  filled  with  the  sea;  and  here  live  and 
flourish  thousands  upon  thousands  of  those  mollusks  and 
zoophytes  which  can  exist  only  in  its  salt  waters.  The 
sides  of  the  caves,  as  far  as  the  highest  tides  swept,  were 
studded  with  crimson  and  purple  and  amber  mollusca, 
glistening  like  jewels  in  the  light  pouring  down  upon  them 
from  the  eyelet  openings  overhead.  Not  the  space  of  a 
fingertip  was  clear.  Above  them,  in  the  clefts  of  the 
rocks,  hung  fringes  of  delicate  ferns  of  the  most  vivid 
green,  while  here  and  there  were  nooks  and  crevices  of 
profound  darkness,  black  with  perpetual,  unbroken  shadow. 

I  had  known  the  caves  well  when  I  was  a  boy,  but  it 
was  many  years  since  I  had  been  there.  Now  I  was  alone 
in  them  with  Olivia,  no  other  human  being  in  sight  or 
sound  of  us.  I  had  scarcely  eyes  for  any  sight  but  that  of 
her  face,  which  had  grown  shy  and  downcast,  and  was 
generally  turned  away  from  me.  She  would  be  frightened, 
I  thought,  if  I  spoke  to  her  in  that  lonesome  place.  I 
would  wait  till  we  were  on  the  cliffs,  in  the  open  eye  of 
day. 

She  left  my  side  for  one  moment  while  I  was  poking 
under  a  stone  for  a  young  pieuvre,  which  had  darkened 
the  little  pool  of  water  round  it  with  its  inky  fluid.  I 
heard  her  utter  an  exclamation  of  delight,  and  I  gave  up 
my  pursuit  instantly  to  learn  what  was  giving  her  pleasure. 
She  was  stooping  down  to  look  beneath  a  low  arch,  not 
more  than  two  feet  high,  and  I  knelt  down  beside  her- 
Beyond  lay  a  straight,  narrow  channel  of  transparent 
water,  blue  from  a  faint  reflected  light,  with  smooth  sculp- 
tured walls  of  rock,  clear  from  mollusca,  rising  on  each 
side  of  it.  Level  lines  of  mimic  waves  rippled  monot- 
onously upon  it,  as  if  it  was  stirred  by  some  soft  wind 
16 


242  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

which  we  could  not  feel.  You  could  have  peopled  it  with 
tiny  boats  flitting  across  it,  or  skimming  lightly  down  it. 
Tears  shone  in  Olivia's  eyes. 

"  It  reminds  me  so  of  a  canal  in  Venice,"  she  said,  in  a 
tremulous  voice. 

"Do  you  know  Venice?"  I  asked;  and  the  recollec- 
tion of  her  portrait  taken  in  Florence  came  to  my  mind. 
Well,  by-and-by  I  should  have  a  right  to  hear  about  all 
her  wanderings. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  answered;  "I  spent  three  months 
there  once  and  this  place  is  like  it." 

"Was  it  a  happy  time?"  I  inquired,  jealous  of  those 
tears. 

"  It  was  a  hateful  time,"  she  said  vehemently.  "  Don't 
let  us  talk  of  it.  I  hate  to  remember  it.  Why  cannot 
we  forget  things,  Dr.  Martin?  You,  who  are  so  clever, 
can  tell  me  that." 

"That  is  simple  enough,"  I  said  smiling.  "Every  cir- 
cumstances of  our  life  makes  a  change  in  the  substance 
of  the  brain,  and  while  that  remains  sound  and  in  vigor 
we  cannot  forget.  To-day  is  being  written  on  our  brain 
now.     You  will  have  to  remember  this,  Olivia." 

"  I  know  I  shall  remember  it,"  she  answered  in  a  low 
tone. 

"You  have  travelled  a  great  deal,  then?"  I  pursued, 
wishing  her  to  talk  about  herself,  for  I  could  scarcely 
trust  my  resolution  to  wait  till  we  were  out  of  the  caves. 
"  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul "  was  on  my 
tongue's  end. 

"  We  travelled  nearly  all  over  Europe,"  she  replied. 

I  wondered  whom  she  meant  by  "we."  She  had  never 
used  the  plural  pronoun  before,  and  I  thought  of  that 
odious  woman  in  Guernsey — an  unpleasant  recollection. 

We  had  wandered  back  to  the  opening  where  Tardif 


THE    DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


243 


had  left  us.  The  rapid  current  between  us  and  Breckhou 
was  running  in  swift  eddies,  which  showed  the  more 
plainly  because  the  day  was  calm,  and  the  open  sea 
smooth.  Olivia  stood  near  me;  but  a  sort  of  chilly  diffi- 
dence had  crept  over  me,  and  I  could  not  have  ventured 
to  press  too  closely  to  her  or  to  touch  her  with  my  hand. 

"  How  have  you  been  content  to  live  here?  "  I  asked. 

"  This  year  in  Sark  has  saved  me,"  she  answered  softly. 

"What  has  it  saved  you  from?"  I  inquired,  with  in- 
tense eagerness.  She  turned  her  face  full  upon  me,  with 
a  world  of  reproach  in  her  gray  eyes. 

"Dr.  Martin,"  she  said,  "why  will  you  persist  in  asking 
me  about  my  former  life?  Tardif  never  does.  He  never 
implies  by  a  word  or  look  that  he  wishes  to  know  more 
than  I  choose  to  tell.  I  cannot  tell  you  anything  about 
it." 

I  felt  uncomfortably  that  she  was  drawing  a  comparison 
unfavorable  to  me  between  Tardif  and  myself — the  gen- 
tleman, who  could  not  conquer  or  conceal  his  desire  to 
fathom  a  mystery,  and  the  fisherman,  who  acted  as  if 
there  were  no  mystery  at  all.  Yet  Olivia  appeared  more 
grieved  than  offended;  and  when  she  knew  how  I  loved 
her  she  would  admit  that  my  curiosity  was  natural.  She 
should  know,  too,  that  I  was  willing  to  take  her  as  she 
was,  with  all  the  secrets  of  her  former  life  kept  from  me. 
Some  day  I  would  make  her  own  I  was  as  generous  as  Tar- 
dif. 

Just  then  my  ear  caught  for  the  first  time  a  low  boom- 
boom,  which  had  probaby  been  sounding  through  the 
caves  for  some  minutes. 

"Good  heavens!  "  I  ejaculated. 

Yet  a  moment's  thought  convinced  me  that,  though 
there  might  be  a  little  risk,  there  was  no  paralyzing  dan- 
ger.    I  had  forggtten  the  narrowness  of  the  gully  through 


244 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


which  alone  we  could  gain  the  cliffs.  From  the  Open 
span  of  beach  where  we  were  now  standing,  there  was  no 
chance  of  leaving  the  caves  except  as  we  had  come  to 
them,  by  a  boat ;  for  on  each  side  a  crag  ran  like  a  spur 
into  the  water.  The  comparatively  open  space  permitted 
the  tide  to  lap  in  quietly,  and  steal  imperceptibly  higher 
upon  its  pebbles. 

But  the  low  boom  I  heard  was  the  sea  rushing  in  through 
the  throat  of  the  narrow  outlet  though  which  lay  our  only 
means  of  escape.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose. 
Without  a  word,  I  snatched  up  Olivia  in  my  arms,  and 
ran  back  into  the  caves,  making  as  rapidly  as  I  could  for 
the  long,  straight  passage. 

Neither  did  Olivia  speak  a  word  or  utter  a  cry.  We 
found  ourselves  in  a  low  tunnel,  where  the  water  was  be- 
ginning to  flow  in  pretty  strongly.  I  set  her  down  for  an 
instant,  and  tore  off  my  coat  and  waistcoat.  Then  I 
caught  her  up  again,  and  strode  along  over  the  slippery, 
slimy  masses  of  rock  which  lay  under  my  feet  covered 
with  seaweed. 

"  Olivia,"  I  said,  "  I  must  have  my  right  hand  free  to 
steady  myself  with.  Put  both  your  arms  round  my  neck 
and  cling  to  me  so.     Don't  touch  my  arms  or  shoulders." 

Yet  the  clinging  of  her  arms  about  my  neck,  and  her 
cheek  close  to  mine,  almost  unnerved  me.  I  held  her 
fast  with  my  left  arm,  and  steadied  myself  with  my  right. 
We  gained  in  a  minute  or  two  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel. 
The  drift  was  pouring  into  it  with  a  force  almost  too  great 
for  me,  burdened  as  I  was.  But  there  was  the  pause  of 
the  tide,  when  the  waves  rushed  out  again  in  white  floods, 
leaving  the  water  comparatively  shallow.  There  were 
still  six  or  eight  yards  to  traverse  before  we  could  reach 
an  archway  in  the  cliffs,  which  would  land  us  in  safety  in 
the  outer  caves.     Across  this  small  space  the  tide  came 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  245 

in  strongly,  beating  against  the  foot  of  the  rocks  and  re- 
bounding with  great  force.  There  was  some  peril;  but 
we  had  no  alternative.  I  lifted  Olivia  a  little  higher 
against  my  shoulder,  for  her  long  serge  dress  wrapped 
dangerously  around  us  both;  and  then  waiting  for  the 
pause  in  the  throbbing  of  the  tide,  I  dashed  hastily  across. 

One  swirl  of  the  water  coiled  about  us,  washing  up 
nearly  to  my  throat,  and  giving  me  almost  a  choking 
sensation  of  dread;  but  before  a  second  could  swoop 
down  upon  us  I  had  staggered  half-blinded  to  the  arch, 
and  put  down  Olivia  in  the  small,  secure  cave  within  it. 
She  had  not  spoken  once.  She  did  not  seem  able  to  speak 
now.  Her  large,  terrified  eyes  looked  up  at  me  dumbly, 
and  her  face  was  white  to  the  lips.  I  clasped  her  in  my 
arms  once  more,  and  kissed  her  forehead  and  lips  again 
and  again  in  a  paroxysm  of  passionate  love  and  gladness. 

"Thank  God!  "  I  cried.     "  How  I  love  you,  Olivia!  " 

I  had  told  her  only  a  few  minutes  before  that  the  brain 
is  ineffaceably  stamped  with  the  impress  of  every  event 
in  our  lives.  But  how  much  more  deeply  do  some  events 
burn  themselves  there  than  others!  I  see  it  all  now  more 
clearly,  it  seems  to  me,  than  my  eyes  saw  it  then.  There 
is  the  huge,  high  entrance  to  the  outer  caves  where  we 
are  standing,  with  a  massive  lintel  of  rocks  overhead,  all 
black  but  for  a  few  purple  and  gray  tints  scattered  across 
the  blackness.  Behind  us  the  sea  is  glistening,  and  pris- 
matic colors  play  upon  the  cliffs.  Shadows  fall  from  rocks 
we  cannot  see.  Olivia  stands  before  me,  pale  and  terri- 
fied, the  water  running  from  her  heavy  dress,  which  clings 
about  her  slender  figure.  She  shrinks  away  from  me  a 
pace  or  two. 

"Hush!"  she  cries  in  a  tone  of  mingled  pain  and 
dread;  "hush!" 

There  was  something  so  positive,  so  prohibitory  in  her 


246  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

voice  and  gesture  that  my  heart  contracted,  and  a  sudden 
chill  of  despondency  ran  through  me.  But  I  could  not 
be.  silent  now.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  hold  my 
peace,  even  at  her  bidding. 

"Why  do  you  say  hush?"  I  asked  peremptorily:  "I 
love  you,  Olivia.  Is  there  any  reason  why  I  should  not 
love  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  very  slowly  and  with  quivering  lips. 
"  I  was  married  four  years  ago,  and  my  husband  is  living 
still!" 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


247 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

A   GLOOMY  ENDING. 

OLIVIA'S  answer  struck  me  like  an  electric  shock.  For 
some  moments  I  was  simply  stunned,  and  knew 
neither  what  she  had  said,  nor  where  we  were. 

I  suppose  half  a  minute  had  elapsed  before  I  fairly  re- 
ceived the  meaning  of  her  words  into  my  bewildered  brain. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  were  thundering  in  my  ears,  though 
she  had  uttered  them  in  a  low,  frightened  voice.  I  scarcely 
understood  them  when  I  looked  up  and  saw  her  leaning 
against  the  rock,  with  her  hands  covering  her  face. 

"Olivia!  "  I  cried,  stretching  out  my  arms  toward  her, 
as  though  she  would  flutter  back  to  them  and  lay  her  head 
again  where  it  had  been  resting  upon  my  shoulder,  with 
her  face  against  my  neck. 

But  she  did  not  see  my  gesture,  and  the  next  moment 
I  knew  that  she  could  never  let  me  hold  her  in  my  arms 
again.     I  dared  not  even  take  one  step  nearer  to  her. 

"Olivia,"  I  said  again,  after  another  minute  or  two  of 
troubled  silence,  with  no  sound  but  the  thunders  of  the 
sea  reverberating  through  the  perilous  strait  where  we 
had  almost  confronted  death  together — "  Olivia,  is  it 
true?" 

She  bowed  her  head  still  lower  upon  her  hands,  in 
speechless  confirmation.  A  stricken,  helpless,  cowering 
child  she  seemed  to  me,  standing  there  in  her  drenched 
clothing.     An  unutterable  tenderness,  altogether  different 


248  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

from  the  feverish  passion  of  a  few  minutes  ago,  filled  my 
heart  as  I  looked  at  her. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  as  camly  as  I  could  speak,  "  I  am  at 
any  rate  your  doctor,  and  I  am  bound  to  take  care  of 
you.  You  must  not  stay  here  wet  and  cold.  Let  us 
make  haste  back  to  Tardifs,  Olivia." 

I  drew  her  hand  down  from  her  face  and  through  my 
arm,  for  we  had  still  to  re-enter  the  outer  cave,  and  to  re- 
turn through  a  higher  gallery,  before  we  could  reach  the 
cliffs  above.  I  did  not  glance  at  her.  The  road  was 
very  rough,  strewn  with  huge  boulders,  and  she  was  com- 
pelled to  receive  my  help.  But  we  did  not  speak  again 
till  we  were  on  the  cliffs,  in  the  eye  of  day,  with  our  faces 
and  our  steps  turned  toward  Tardifs  farm. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  in  a  tone  that  made  my 
heart  ache  the  keener,  "  how  sorry  I  am !  " 

"  Sorry  that  I  love  you?  "  I  asked,  feeling  that  my  love 
was  growing  every  moment  in  spite  of  myself.  The  sun 
shone  on  her  face,  which  was  just  below  my  eyes.  There 
was  an  expression  of  sad  perplexity  and  questioning  upon 
it,  which  kept  away  every  other  sign  of  emotion.  She 
lifted  her  eyes  to  me  frankly,  and  no  flush  of  color  came 
over  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  it  is  such  a  miserable,  unfor- 
tunate thing  for  you.     But  how  could  I  have  helped  it?  " 

"  You  could  not  help  it,"  I  said. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  deceive  you,"  she  continued — 
"  neither  you  nor  any  one.  When  I  fled  away  from  him 
I  had  no  plan  of  any  kind.  I  was  just  like  a  leaf  driven 
about  by  the  wind,  and  it  tossed  me  here.  I  did  not 
think  I  ought  to  tell  any  one  I  was  married,  I  wish  I 
could  have  foreseen  this.  Why  did  God  let  me  have  that 
accident  in  the  spring?  Why  did  he  let  you  come  over 
to  see  me?" 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  249 

"Are  you  surprised  that  I  love  you?  "  I  asked. 

Now  I  saw  a  subtle  flush  steal  across  her  face,  and  her 
eyes  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  till  this  afternoon,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  I  knew  you  were  going  to  marry  your  cousin 
Julia,  and  I  knew  I  was  married,  and  that  there  could  be 
no  release  from  that.  All  my  life  is  ruined,  but  you  and 
Tardif  made  it  more  bearable.  I  did  not  think  you  loved 
me  till  I  saw  your  face  this  afternoon." 

"  I  shall  always  love  you,"  I  cried  passionately,  looking 
down  on  the  shining,  drooping  head  beside  me,  and  the 
sad  face  and  listless  arms  hanging  down  in  an  attitude  of 
dejection.  She  seemed  so  forlorn  a  creature  that  I  wished 
I  could  take  her  to  my  heart  again;  but  that  was  im- 
possible now. 

"No,"  she  answered  in  her  calm,  sorrowful  voice. 
"  When  you  see  clearly  that  it  is  an  evil  thing  you  will 
conquer  it.  There  will  be  no  hope  whatever  in  your  love 
for  me,  and  it  will  pass  away.  Not  soon,  perhaps;  I  can 
scarcely  wish  you  to  forget  me  soon.  Yet  it  would  be 
wrong  for  you  to  love  me  now.  Why  was  I  driven  to 
marry  him  so  long  ago?  " 

A  sharp,  bitter  tone  rang  through  her  quiet  voice,  and 
for  a  moment  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Olivia,"  I  said,  "it  is  harder  upon  me  than  you  can 
think,  or  I  can  tell." 

She  had  not  the  faintest  notion  of  how  hard  this  trial 
was.  I  had  sacrificed  every  plan  and  purpose  of  my  life 
in  the  hope  of  winning  her.  I  had  cast  away,  almost  as  a 
worthless  thing,  the  substantial  prosperity  which  had  been 
within  my  grasp,  and  now  that  I  stretched  out  my  hand 
for  the  prize,  I  found  it  nothing  but  an  empty  shadow. 
Deeper  even  that  this  lay  the  thought  of  my  mother's 
bitter  disappointment. 


250 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


"  Your  husband  must  have  treated  you  very  badly  be- 
fore you  would  take  such  a  desperate  step  as  this,"  I  said 
again,  after  a  long  silence,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  said. 

"  He  treated  me  so  ill,"  said  Olivia,  with  the  same  hard 
tone  in  her  voice,  "  that  when  I  had  a  chance  of  escape  it 
seemed  as  if  God  himself  opened  the  door  for  me.  He 
treated  me  so  ill  that  if  I  thought  there  was  any  fear  of 
him  finding  me  out  here,  I  would  rather  a  thousand  times 
you  had  left  me  to  die  in  the  caves." 

That  brought  to  my  mind  what  I  had  almost  forgotten 
— the  woman  whom  my  imprudent  curiosity  had  brought 
into  pursuit  of  her.  I  felt  ready  to  curse  my  folly  aloud, 
as  I  did  in  my  heart  for  having  gone  to  Messrs.  Scott  and 
Brown. 

"  Olivia,"  I  said,  "  there  is  a  woman  in  Guernsey  who 
has  some  clue  to  you " 

But  I  could  say  no  more,  for  I  thought  she  would  have 
fallen  to  the  ground  in  her  terror.  I  drew  her  hand 
through  my  arm  and  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"No  harm  can  come  to  you,"  I  continued,  "while 
Tardif  and  I  are  here  to  protect  you.  Do  not  frighten 
yourself;  we  will  defend  you  from  every  danger." 

"  Martin,"  she  whispered — and  the  pleasant  familiarity 
of  my  name  spoken  by  her  gave  me  a  sharp  pang,  almost 
of  gladness — "no  one  can  help  me  or  defend  me.  The 
law  would  compel  me  to  go  back  to  him.  A  woman's 
heart  may  be  broken  without  the  law  being  broken.  I 
could  prove  nothing  that  would  give  me  a  right  to  be  free 
— nothing.  So  I  took  it  into  my  own  hands.  I  tell  you 
I  would  rather  have  been  drowned  this  afternoon.  Why 
did  you  save  me?  " 

I  did  not  answer,  except  by  pressing  her  hand  against 
my  side.  I  hurried  her  on  silently  toward  the  cottage. 
She  was  shivering  in  her  cold,  wet  dress,  and  trembling 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  251 

with  fear.  It  was  plain  to  me  that  even  her  fine  health 
should  not  be  trifled  with,  and  I  loved  her  too  tenderly, 
her  poor,  shivering,  trembling  frame,  to  let  her  suffer  if  I 
could  help  it.  When  we  reached  the  foldyard-gate,  I 
stopped  her  for  a  moment  to  speak  only  a  few  words. 

"  Go  in,"  I  said,  "  and  change  every  one  of  your  wet 
clothes.  I  will  see  you  again,  once  again,  when  we  can 
talk  with  one  another  calmly.  God  bless  and  take  care 
of  you,  my  darling!  " 

She  smiled  faintly,  and  laid  her  hand  in  mine. 

"  You  forgive  me?  "  she  said. 

"  Forgive  you !  "  I  repeated,  kissing  the  small  brown 
hand  lingeringly ;  "  I  have  nothing  to  forgive." 

She  went  on  across  the  little  fold  and  into  the  house, 
without  looking  back  toward  me.  I  could  see  her  pass 
through  the  kitchen  into  her  own  room,  where  I  had 
watched  her  through  the  struggle  between  life  and  death 
which  had  first  made  her  dear  to  me.  Then  I  made  my 
way,  blind  and  deaf,  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  seeing  nothing, 
hearing  nothing.  I  flung  myself  down  on  the  turf,  with 
my  face  to  the  ground,  to  hide  my  eyes  from  the  staring 
light  of  the  summer  sun. 

Already  it  seemed  a  long  time  since  I  had  known  that 
Olivia  was  married.  The  knowledge  had  lost  its  fresh- 
ness and  novelty,  and  the  sting  of  it  had  become  a  rooted 
sorrow.  There  was  no  mystery  about  her  now.  I  almost 
laugh,  with  a  resentful  bitterness,  at  the  poor  guesses  I 
had  made.  This  was  the  solution,  and  it  placed  her  for- 
ever out  of  my  reach.  As  with  Tardif,  so  she  could  be 
nothing  for  me  now,  but  as  the  blue  sky,  and  the  white 
clouds,  and  the  stars  shining  in  the  night.  My  poor 
Olivia!  whom  I  loved  a  hundredfold  more  than  I  had 
done  even  this  morning.  This  morning  I  had  been  full 
of  my  own  triumph  and  gladness.     Now  I  had  nothing 


252  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

in  my  heart  but  a  vast  pity  and  reverential  tenderness 
for  her. 

Married?  That  was  what  she  had  said.  It  shut  out  all 
hope  for  the  future.  She  must  have  been  a  mere  child 
four  years  ago ;  she  looked  very  young  and  girlish  still. 
And  her  husband  treated  her  ill — my  Olivia,  for  whom  I 
had  given  up  all  I  had  to  give.  She  said  the  law  would 
compel  her  to  return  to  him,  and  I  could  do  nothing.  I 
could  not  interfere  even  to  save  her  from  a  life  which  was 
worse  to  her  than  death. 

My  heart  was  caught  in  a  vice,  and  there  was  no  escape 
from  the  torture  of  its  relentless  grip.  Whichever  way  I 
looked  there  was  sorrow  and  despair.  I  wished,  with  a 
faintheartedness  I  never  felt  before,  that  Olivia  and  I  had 
indeed  perished  together  down  in  the  caves  where  the 
tide  was  now  sweeping  below  me. 

"Martin!"  said  a  clear,  low,  tender  tone  in  my  ear, 
which  could  never  be  deaf  to  that  voice.  I  looked  up  at 
Olivia  without  moving.  My  head  was  at  her  feet,  and  I 
laid  my  head  upon  the  hem  of  her  dress. 

"Martin,"  she  said  again,  "see,  I  have  brought  you 
Tardif's  coat  in  place  of  your  own.  You  must  not  lie 
here  in  this  way.  Captain  Carey's  yacht  is  waiting  for 
you  below." 

I  staggered  giddily  when  I  stood  on  my  feet,  and  only 
Olivia's  look  of  pain  steadied  me.  She  had  been  weep- 
ing bitterly.  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  look  in  her  face 
again.  At  any  rate  my  next  duty  was  to  go  away  without 
adding  to  her  distress,  if  that  were  possible.  Tardif  was 
standing  behind  her,  regarding  us  both  with  great  con- 
cern. 

"Doctor,"  he  said,  "when  I  came  in  from  my  lobster- 
pots,  the  captain  sent  a  message  by  me  to  say  the  sun 
would   be  gone  down  before  you  reach  Guernsey.     He 


THE   DOCTOR'S   DILEMMA. 


253 


has  come  round  to  the  Havre  Gosselin.  I'll  walk  down 
the  cliff  with  you.1' 

I  should  have  said  no,  but  Olivia  caught  at  his  words 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  go,  my  good  Tardif,"  she  cried,  "  and  bring  me 
word  that  Dr.  Martin  is  safe  on  board.     Good-by!  " 

Her  hand  is  in  mine  again  for  a  moment,  with  its  slight 
pressure.  Then  she  was  gone,  and  Tardif  was  tramping 
down  the  stony  path  before  me,  speaking  to  me  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  It  has  not  gone  well,  then,  doctor?  "  he  said. 

"  She  will  tell  you,"  I  answered  briefly,  not  knowing 
how  much  Olivia  might  wish  him  to  know. 

"  Take  care  of  mam'zelle,"  I  said,  when  we  had  reached 
the  top  of  the  ladder,  and  the  little  boat  from  the  yacht 
was  dancing  at  the  foot  of  it.  "  There  is  some  danger 
ahead,  and  you  can  protect  her  better  than  I." 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  replied;  "you  may  trust  her  with  me. 
But  God  knows  I  should  have  been  glad  if  it  had  gone 
well  with  you." 


254  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

A    STORY    IN    DETAIL. 

'  TT.^ELL?"  said  Captain  Carey,  as  I  set  my  foot  on 
VV  the  deck.  His  face  was  all  excitement,  and  he 
put  his  arm  affectionately  through  mine. 

"  It  is  all  wrong,"  I  answered  gloomily. 

"You  don't  mean  that  she  will  not  have  you?"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

I  nodded,  for  I  had  no  spirit  to  explain  the  matter  just 
then. 

"  By  George !  "  he  cried ;  "  and  you've  thrown  over  Julia, 
and  offended  all  our  Guernsey  folks,  and  half  broken  your 
poor  mother's  heart,  all  for  nothing!  " 

The  last  consideration  was  the  one  that  stung  me  to 
the  quick.  It  had  half  broken  my  mother's  heart.  No 
one  knew  better  than  I  that  it  had  without  doubt  tended 
to  shorten  her  fleeting  term  of  life.  At  this  moment  she 
was  waiting  for  me  to  bring  her  good  news — perhaps  the 
promise  that  Olivia  had  consented  to  become  my  wife 
before  her  own  last  hour  arrived ;  for  my  mother  and  I 
had  even  talked  of  that.  I  had  thought  it  a  romantic 
scheme  when  my  mother  spoke  of  it,  but  my  passion  had 
fastened  eagerly  upon  it,  in  spite  of  my  better  judgment. 
These  were  the  tidings  she  was  waiting  to  hear  from  my 
lips. 

When  I  reached  home  I  found  her  full  of  dangerous  ex- 
citement.    It  was  impossible  to  allay  it  without  telling 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


255 


her  either  an  untruth  or  the  whole  story.  I  could  not  de- 
ceive her,  and  with  a  desperate  calmness  I  related  the 
history  of  the  day.  I  tried  to  make  light  of  my  disap- 
pointment, but  she  broke  down  into  tears  and  wailings. 

"O  my  boy!"  she  lamented;  "and  I  did  so  want  to 
see  you  happy  before  I  died!  I  wanted  to  leave  some 
one  who  could  comfort  you ;  and  Olivia  would  have  com- 
forted you  and  loved  you  when  I  am  gone.  You  had  set 
your  heart  upon  her.  Are  you  sure  it  is  true?  My  poor, 
poor  Martin,  you  must  forget  her  now.  It  becomes  a  sin 
for  you  to  love  her." 

"I  cannot  forget  her,"  I  said;  "I  cannot  cease  to  love 
her.  There  can  be  no  sin  in  it  as  long  as  I  think  of  her 
as  I  do  now." 

"And  there  is  poor  Julia!  "  moaned  my  mother. 

Yes,  there  was  Julia;  and  she  would  have  to  be  told 
all,  though  she  would  rejoice  over  it.  Of  course  she 
would  rejoice;  it  was  not  in  human  nature,  at  least  in 
Julia's  human  nature,  to  do  otherwise.  She  had  warned 
me  against  Olivia;  had  only  set  me  free  reluctantly.  But 
how  was  I  to  tell  her?  I  must  not  leave  to  my  mother 
the  agitation  of  imparting  such  tidings.  I  could  not 
think  of  deputing  the  task  to  my  father.  There  was  no 
one  to  do  it  but  myself. 

My  mother  passed  a  restless  and  agitated  night,  and  I, 
who  sat  up  with  her,  was  compelled  to  listen  to  all  her 
lamentations.  But  toward  the  morning  she  fell  into  a 
heavy  sleep,  likely  to  last  for  some  hours.  I  could  leave 
her  in  perfect  security ;  and  at  an  early  hour  I  went  down 
to  Julia's  house,  strung  up  to  bear  the  worst,  and  intend- 
ing to  have  it  all  out  with  her,  and  put  her  on  her  guard 
before  she  paid  her  daily  visit  to  our  house.  She  must 
have  some  hours  for  her  excitement  and  rejoicing  to  bub- 
ble over,  before  she  came  to  talk  about  it  to  my  mother. 


256  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Dobree,"  I  said  to  the  girl  who 
quickly  answered  my  noisy  peal  of  the  house-bell. 

"  Please,  sir,"  was  her  reply,  "  she  and  Miss  Daltrey  are 
gone  to  Sark  with  Captain  Carey." 

"  Gone  to  Sark!  "   I  repeated,  in  utter  amazement. 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Martin.  They  started  quite  early  because 
of  the  tide,  and  Captain  Carey's  man  brought  the  carriage 
to  take  them  to  St.  Sampson's.  I  don't  look  for  them 
back  before  evening.  Miss  Dobree  said  I  was  to  come, 
with  her  love,  and  ask  how  Mrs.  Dobree  is  to-day;  and  if 
she's  home  in  time  she'll  come  this  evening ;  but  if  she's 
late  she'll  come  to-morrow  morning." 

"  When  did  they  make  up  their  minds  to  go  to  Sark?  " 
I  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Only  late  last  night,  sir,"  she  answered.  "  Cook  had 
settled  with  Miss  Dobree  to  dine  early  to-day ;  but  then 
Captain  Carey  came  in,  and  after  he  was  gone  she  said 
breakfast  must  be  ready  at  seven  this  morning  in  their 
own  rooms  while  they  were  dressing;  so  they  must  have 
settled  it  with  Captain  Carey  last  night." 

I  turned  away  very  much  surprised  and  bewildered, 
and  in  an  irritable  state  which  made  the  least  thing  jar 
upon  me.  Curiosity,  which  had  slept  yesterday,  or  was 
numbed  by  the  shock  of  my  disappointment,  was  fever- 
ishly awake  to-day.  How  little  I  knew,  after  all,  of  the 
mystery  which  surrounded  Olivia!  The  bitter  core  of  it 
I  knew,  but  nothing  of  the  many  sheaths  and  envelopes 
which  wrapped  it  about.  There  might  be  some  hope, 
some  consolation  to  be  found  wrapped  up  with  it.  I 
must  go  again  to  Sark  in  the  steamer  on  Monday,  and 
hear  Olivia  tell  me  all  she  could  tell  of  her  history. 

Then,  why  were  Julia  and  Kate  Daltrey  gone  to  Sark? 
What  could  they  have  to  do  with  Olivia?  It  made  me 
almost  wild  with  anger  to   think   of  them   finding  Olivia, 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  257 

and  talking  to  her  perhaps  of  me  and  my  love — question- 
ing her,  arguing  with  her,  tormenting  her!  The  bare 
thought  of  those  two  badgering  my  Olivia  was  enough  to 
drive  me  frantic.  In  the  cool  twilight,  Julia  and  Kate 
Daltrey  were  announced.  I  was  about  to  withdraw  from 
my  mother's  room,  in  conformity  with  the  etiquette  es- 
tablished among  us,  when  Julia  recalled  me  in  a  gentler 
voice  than  she  had  used  toward  me  since  the  day  of  my 
fatal  confession. 

"Stay,  Martin,"  she  said;  "what  we  have  to  tell  con- 
cerns you  more  than  any  one." 

I  sat  down  again  by  my  mother's  sofa,  and  she  took  my 
hand  between  both  her  own,  fondling  it  in  the  dusk. 

"  It  is  about  Olivia,"  I  said  in  as  cool  a  tone  as  I  could 
command. 

"Yes,"  answered  Julia;  "we  have  seen  her,  and  we 
have  found  out  why  she  has  refused  you.  She  is  married 
already." 

"She  told  me  so  yesterday,"  I  replied. 

"Told  you  so  yesterday!  "  repeated  Julia  in  an  accent 
of  chagrin.  "If  we  had  only  known  that  we  might  have 
saved  ourselves  the  passage  across  to  Sark." 

"  My  dear  Julia,"  exclaimed  my  mother  feverishly,  "  do 
tell  us  all  about  it,  and  begin  at  the  beginning." 

There  was  nothing  Julia  liked  so  much,  or  could  do  so 
well,  as  to  give  a  circumstantial  account  of  anything  she 
had  done.  She  could  relate  minute  details  with  so  much 
accuracy,  without  being  exactly  tedious,  that  when  one 
was  lazy  or  unoccupied  it  was  pleasant  to  listen.  My 
mother  enjoyed,  with  all  the  delight  of  a  woman,  the 
small  touches  by  which  Julia  embellished  her  sketches. 

I  resigned  myself  to  hearing  a  long  history,  when  I  was 
burning  to  ask  one  or  two  questions  and  have  done  with 
the  topic. 

17 


258  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  To  begin  at  the  beginning  then,"  said  Julia,  "  dear 
Captain  Carey  came  into  town  very  late  last  night  to  talk 
to  us  about  Martin,  and  how  the  girl  in  Sark  had  refused 
him.  I  was  very  much  astonished,  very  much  indeed! 
Captain  Carey  said  that  he  and  dear  Johanna  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  girl  felt  some  delicacy,  per- 
haps, because  of  Martin's  engagement  to  me.  We  talked 
it  over  as  friends,  and  thought  of  you,  dear  aunt,  and  your 
grief  and  disappointment,  till  all  at  once  I  made  up  my 
mind  in  a  moment.  '  I  will  go  over  to  Sark  and  see  the 
girl  myself,'  I  said.  'Will  you?'  said  Captain  Carey. 
'  Oh,  no,  Julia,  it  will  be  too  much  for  you.'  '  It  would 
have  been  a  few  weeks  ago,1  I  said ;  '  but  now  I  could  do 
anything  to  give  aunt  Dobree  a  moment's  happiness.'  " 

"  God  bless  you,  Julia,"  I  interrupted,  going  across  to 
her  and  kissing  her  cheek  impetuously. 

"There,  don't  stop  me,  Martin,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"  So  it  was  arranged  off-hand  that  Captain  Carey  should 
send  for  us  to  St.  Sampson's  this  morning,  and  take  us 
over  to  Sark.  You  know  Kate  has  never  been  there  yet.  We 
had  a  splendid  passage,  and  landed  at  the  Creux,  where 
the  yacht  was  to  wait  till  we  returned.  Kate  was  in  rap- 
tures with  the  landing-place,  and  the  lovely  lane  leading 
up  into  the  island.  We  went  on  past  Vaudin's  Inn  and 
the  mill,  and  turned  down  the  nearest  way  to  Tardif's. 
Kate  says  she  never  felt  any  air  like  the  air  of  Sark. 
Well,  you  know  that  brown  pool,  a  very  brown  pool,  in 
the  lane  leading  to  the  Havre  Gosselin?  Just  there,  where 
there  are  some  low,  weather-beaten  trees  meeting  over- 
head and  making  a  long  green  aisle,  with  the  sun  shining 
down  through  the  knotted  branches,  we  saw  all  in  a  mo- 
ment a  slim,  erect,  very  young-looking  girl  coming  toward 
us.  She  was  carrying  her  bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  her 
hair  curled  in  short,  bright  curls  all  over  her  head.  I 
knew  in  an  instant  that  it  was  Miss  Ollivier." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  259 

She  paused  for  a  minute.  How  plainly  I  could  see  the 
picture!  The  arching  trees,  and  the  sunbeams  playing 
fondly  with  her  shining  golden  hair!  I  held  my  breath 
to  listen. 

"What  completely  startled  me,''  said  Julia,  "was  that 
Kate  suddenly  darted  forward  and  ran  to  meet  her,  crying 
'Olivia!'" 

"How  does  she  know  her?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"Hush,  Martin!  Don't  interrupt  me.  The  girl  was 
so  deadly  pale,  I  thought  she  was  going  to  faint,  but  she 
did  not.  She  stood  for  a  minute  looking  at  us,  and  then 
she  burst  into  the  most  dreadful  fit  of  crying! 

"  I  ran  to  her,  and  made  her  sit  down  on  a  little  bank 
of  turf  close  by,  and  gave  her  my  smelling-bottle,  and  did 
all  I  could  to  comfort  her.  By-and-by,  as  soon  as  she 
could  speak,  she  said  to  Kate, '  How  did  you  find  me  out?  ' 
and  Kate  told  her  she  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  find- 
ing her  there.  '  Dr.  Martin  Dobree,  of  Guernsey,  told 
me  you  were   looking   for  me,  only  yesterday,'  she  said. 

"  That  took  us  by  surprise,  for  Kate  had  not  the  faint- 
est idea  of  seeing  her.  I  have  always  thought  her  name 
was  Ollivier,  and  so  did  Kate.  '  For  pity's  sake,'  said  the 
girl,  '  if  you  have  any  pity,  leave  me  here  in  peace.  For 
God's  sake  do  not  betray  me ! ' 

"  I  could  hardly  believe  it  was  not  a  dream.  There 
was  Kate  standing  over  us,  looking  very  stern  and  severe, 
and  the  girl  was  clinging  to  me — to  me,  as  if  I  were  her 
dearest  friend.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  up  came  old  mother 
Renouf,  looking  half  crazed,  and  began  to  harangue  us 
for  frightening  mam'zelle.  Tardif,  she  said,  would  be  at 
hand  in  a  minute  or  two,  and  he  would  take  care  of  her 
from  us  and  everybody  else.  '  Take  me  away! '  cried  the 
girl,  running  to  her;  and  the  old  woman  tucked  her  hand 
under  her  arm,  and  walked  off  with  her  in  triumph,  leav- 
ing us  by  ourselves  in  the  lane." 


260  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"But  what  does  it  all  mean?"  asked  my  mother,  while 
I  paced  to  and  fro  in  the  dim  room,  scarcely  able  to  con- 
trol my  impatience,  yet  afraid  to  question  Julia  too  eagerly. 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Kate  Daltrey  in  her  cold,  delib- 
erate tones ;  "  she  is  the  wife  of  my  half-brother,  Richard 
Foster,  who  married  her  more  than  four  years  ago  in  Mel- 
bourne ;  and  she  ran  away  from  him  last  October,  and 
has  not  been  heard  of  since." 

"  Then  you  know  her  whole  history,"  I  said,  approach- 
ing her  and  pausing  before  her.  "Are  you  at  liberty  to 
tell  it  to  us?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered ;  "  it  is  no  secret.  Her  father 
was  a  wealthy  colonist,  and  he  died  when  she  was  fifteen, 
leaving  her  in  the  charge  of  her  stepmother,  Richard  Fos- 
ter's aunt.  The  match  was  one  of  the  stepmother's  mak- 
ing, for  Olivia  was  little  better  than  a  child.  Richard 
was  glad  enough  to  get  her  fortune,  or  rather  the  income 
from  it,  for  of  course  she  did  not  come  into  full  posses- 
sion of  it  till  she  was  of  age.  One-third  of  it  was  settled 
upon  her  absolutely ;  the  other  two-thirds  came  to  her  for 
her  to  do  what  she  pleased  with  it.  Richard  was  looking 
forward  eagerly  to  her  being  one-and-twenty,  for  he  had 
made  ducks  and  drakes  of  his  own  property,  and  tried  to 
do  the  same  with  mine.  He  would  have  done  so  with  his 
wife's ;  but  a  few  weeks  before  Olivia's  twenty-first  birth- 
day, she  disappeared  mysteriously.  There  her  fortune 
lies,  and  Richard  has  no  more  power  than  I  have  to  touch 
it.  He  cannot  even  claim  the  money  lying  in  the  Bank 
of  Australia,  which  has  been  remitted  by  her  trustees; 
nor  can  Olivia  claim  it  without  making  herself  known  to 
him.  It  is  accumulating  there,  while  both  of  them  are  on 
the  verge  of  poverty." 

"  But  he  must  have  been  very  cruel  to  her  before  she 
would  run  away! "  said  my  mother  in  a  very  pitiful  voice. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  261 

Poor  mother!  she  had  borne  her  own  sorrows  dumbly, 
and  to  leave  her  husband  had  probably  never  occurred  to 
her. 

"Cruel!  "'  repeated  Kate  Daltrey.  "  Well,  there  are 
many  kinds  of  cruelty.  I  do  not  suppose  Richard  would 
ever  trangress  the  limits  of  the  law.  But  Olivia  was  one 
of  those  girls  who  can  suffer  great  torture — mental  torture 
I  mean.  Even  I  could  not  live  in  the  same  house  with 
him,  and  she  was  a  dreamy,  sensitive,  romantic  child,  with 
as  much  knowledge  of  the  world  as  a  baby.  I  was  as- 
tonished to  hear  she  had  had  daring  enough  to  leave  him." 

"  But  there  must  be  some  protection  for  her  from  the 
law,"  I  said,  thinking  of  the  bold,  coarse  woman,  no  doubt 
his  associate,  who  was  in  pursuit  of  Olivia.  "  She  might 
sue  for  a  judicial  separation,  at  the  least,  if  not  a  di- 
vorce." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  nothing  could  be  brought  against 
him  in  a  court  of  law,"  she  answered.  "  He  is  very  wary 
and  cunning,  and  knows  very  well  what  he  may  do  and 
what  he  may  not  do.  A  few  months  before  Olivia's  flight, 
he  introduced  a  woman  as  her  companion — a  disreputable 
woman  probably;  but  he  calls  her  his  cousin,  and  I  do 
not  know  how  Olivia  could  prove  her  an  unfit  person  to 
be  with  her.  Our  suspicions  may  be  very  strong,  but  sus- 
picion is  not  enough  for  an  English  judge  and  jury.  Since 
I  saw  her  this  morning  I  have  been  thinking  of  her  posi- 
tion in  every  light,  and  I  really  do  not  see  anything  she  , 
could  have  done,  except  running  away  as  she  did,  or 
making  up  her  mind  to  be  deaf  and  blind,  and  dumb. 
There  was  no  other  alternative." 

"  But  could  he  not  be  induced  to  leave  her  in  peace  if 
she  gave  up  a  portion  of  her  property?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why  should  he  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  If  she  was  in  his 
hands  the  whole  of  the  property  would  be  his.     He  will 


262  THE  DOCTOR'S   DILEMMA. 

never  release  her — never.  No,  her  only  chance  is  to  hide 
herself  from  him.  The  law  cannot  deal  with  wrongs  like 
hers,  because  they  are  as  light  as  air  apparently,  though 
they  are  as  all-pervading  as  air  is,  and  as  poisonous  as  air 
can  be.  They  are  like  choke-damp,  only  not  quite  fatal. 
He  is  as  crafty  and  cunning  as  a  serpent.  He  could 
prove  himself  the  kindest,  most  considerate  of  husbands, 
and  Olivia  next  thing  to  an  idiot.  Oh,  it  is  ridiculous  to 
think  of  pitting  a  girl  like  her  against  him !  " 

"  If  she  had  been  older,  or  if  she  had  had  a  child,  she 
would  never  have  left  him,"  said  my  mother's  gentle  and 
sorrowful  voice. 

"  But  what  can  be  done  for  her?  "  I  asked  vehemently 
and  passionately.  "  My  poor  Olivia!  what  can  I  do  to 
protect  her?" 

"Nothing!  "  replied  Kate  Daltrey  coldly.  "  Her  only 
chance  is  concealment,  and  what  a  poor  chance  that  is! 
I  went  over  to  Sark,  never  thinking  that  your  Miss  Olli- 
vier  whom  I  had  heard  so  much  of  was  Olivia  Foster.  It 
is  an  out-of -the- world  place;  but  so  much  the  more  read- 
ily they  will  find  her,  if  they  once  get  a  clue.  A  fox  is 
soon  caught  when  it  cannot  double ;  and  how  could  Olivia 
escape  if  they  only  traced  her  to  Sark?  " 

My  dread  of  the  woman  into  whose  hands  my  imbecile 
curiosity  had  put  the  clue  was  growing  greater  every  min- 
ute. It  seemed  as  if  Olivia  could  not  be  safe  now,  day 
or  night ;  yet  what  protection  could  I  or  Tardif  give  to 
her? 

"You  will  not  betray  her?"  I  said  to  Kate  Daltrey, 
though  feeling  all  the  time  that  I  could  not  trust  her  in 
the  smallest  degree. 

"  I  have  promised  dear  Julia  that,"  she  answered. 

I  should  fail  to  give  you  any  clear  idea  of  my  state  of 
mind  should  I  attempt  to  analyze  it.     The  most  bitter 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  263 

thought  in  it  was  that  my  own  imprudence  had  betrayed 
Olivia.  But  for  me  she  might  have  remained  for  years, 
in  peace  and  perfect  seclusion,  in  the  home  to  which  she 
had  drifted.  Richard  Foster  and  his  accomplice  must 
have  lost  all  hope  of  finding  her  during  the  many  months 
that  had  elapsed  between  her  disappearance  and  my  visit 
to  their  solicitors.  That  had  put  them  on  the  track  again. 
If  the  law  forced  her  back  to  her  husband,  it  was  I  who 
had  helped  him  to  find  her.  That  was  a  maddening 
thought.  My  love  for  her  was  hopeless;  but  what  then? 
I  discovered  to  my  own  amazement  that  I  had  loved  her 
for  her  sake,  not  my  own.  I  had  loved  the  woman  in 
herself,  not  the  woman  as  my  wife.  She  could  never  be- 
come that,  but  she  was  dearer  to  me  than  ever.  She  was 
as  far  removed  from  me  as  from  Tardif.  Could  I  not 
serve  her  with  as  deep  a  devotion  and  as  true  a  chivalry 
as  his?  She  belonged  to  both  of  us  by  as  unselfish  and 
noble  a  bond  as  ever  knights  of  old  were  pledged  to. 
It  became  my  duty  to  keep  a  strict  watch  over  the 
woman  who  had  come  to  Guernsey  to  find  Olivia.  If 
possible  I  must  decoy  her  away  from  the  lowly  nest  where 
my  helpless  bird  was  sheltered.  She  had  not  sent  for  me 
again,  but  I  called  upon  her  the  next  morning  profession- 
ally, and  stayed  some  time  talking  with  her.  But  nothing 
resulted  from  the  visit  beyond  the  assurance  that  she  had 
not  yet  made  any  progress  toward  the  discovery  of  my 
secret.  I  almost  marvelled  at  this,  so  universal  had  been 
the  gossip  about  my  visits  to  Sark  in  connection  with  the 
breaking -off  of  my  engagement  to  Julia.  But  that  had 
occurred  in  the  spring,  and  the  nine  days'  wonder  had 
ceased  before  my  patient  came  to  the  island.  Still,  any 
accidental  conversation  might  give  her  the  information, 
and  open  up  a  favorable  chance  for  her.  I  must  not  let 
her  go  across  to  Sark  unknown  to  myself. 


264  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Neither  did  I  feel  quite  safe  about  Kate  Daltrey.  She 
gave  me  the  impression  of  being  as  crafty  and  cunning 
as  she  described  her  half-brother.  Did  she  know  this 
woman  by  sight?  That  was  a  question  I  could  not  an- 
swer. There  was  another  question  hanging  upon  it.  If 
she  saw  her,  would  she  not  in  some  way  contrive  to  give 
her  a  sufficient  hint,  without  positively  breaking  her  prom- 
ise to  Julia?  Kate  Daltrey's  name  did  not  appear  in  the 
newspapers  among  the  list  of  visitors,  as  she  was  staying 
in  a  private  house ;  but  she  and  this  woman  might  meet 
any  day  in  the  streets  or  on  the  pier. 

Then  the  whole  story  had  been  confided  by  Julia  at 
once  to  Captain  Carey  and  Johanna.  That  was  quite 
natural ;  but  it  was  equally  natural  for  them  to  confide  it 
again  to  some  one  or  two  of  their  intimate  friends.  The 
secret  was  already  an  open  one  among  six  persons.  Could 
it  be  considered  a  secret  any  longer?  The  tendency  of 
such  a  singular  story,  whispered  from  one  to  another,  is 
to  become  in  the  long  run  more  widely  circulated  than  if 
it  were  openly  proclaimed.  I  had  a  strong  affection  for 
my  circle  of  cousins,  which  widened  as  the  circle  round  a 
stone  cast  into  water;  but  I  knew  I  might  as  well  try  to 
arrest  the  eddying  of  such  waters  as  stop  the  spread  of  a 
story  like  Olivia's. 

I  had  resolved,  in  the  first  access  of  my  curiosity,  to 
cross  over  to  Sark  the  next  week,  alone  and  independent 
of  Captain  Carey.  Every  Monday  the  Queen  of  the  Isles 
made  her  accustomed  trip  to  the  island,  to  convey  visitors 
there  for  the  day. 

I  had  not  been  on  deck  two  minutes  the  following  Mon- 
day when  I  saw  my  patient  step  on  after  me.  The  last 
clue  was  in  her  fingers  now,  that  was  evident. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  265 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

OLIVIA    GONE. 

SHE  did  not  see  me  at  first ;  but  her  air  was  exultant 
and  satisfied.  There  was  no  face  on  board  so  elated 
and  flushed.  I  kept  out  of  her  way  as  long  as  I  could 
without  consigning  myself  to  the  black  hole  of  the  cabin ; 
but  at  last  she  caught  sight  of  me,  and  came  down  to  the 
forecastle  to  claim  me  as  an  acquaintance. 

"Ha!  ha!  Dr.  Dobree!"  she  exclaimed;  "so  you  are 
going  to  visit  Sark,  too?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  more  curtly  than  courteously. 

"You  are  looking  rather  low,"  she  said  triumphantly — 
"  rather  blue,  I  might  say.  Is  there  anything  the  matter 
with  you?  Your  face  is  as  long  as  a  fiddle.  Perhaps  it 
is  the  sea  that  makes  you  so  melancholy." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  trying  to  speak  briskly;  "I 
am  an  old  sailor.  Perhaps  you  will  feel  melancholy  by- 
and-by." 

Luckily  for  me,  my  prophecy  was  fulfilled  shortly  after, 
for  the  day  was  rough  enough  to  produce  uncomfortable 
sensations  in  those  who  are  not  old  sailors  like  myself. 
My  tormentor  was  prostrate  to  the  last  moment. 

When  we  anchored  at  the  entrance  of  the  Creux,  and 
the  small  boats  came  out  to  carry  us  ashore,  I  managed 
easily  to  secure  a  place  in  the  first,  and  to  lose  sight  of 
her  in  the  bustle  of  landing.  As  soon  as  my  feet  touched 
the  shore  I  started  off  at  my  swiftest  pace  for  the  Havre 
Gosselin. 

But  I  had  not  far  to  go,  for  at  Vaudin's   Inn,  which 


266  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

stands  at  the  top  of  the  steep  lane  running  from  the  Creux 
Harbor,  I  saw  Tardif  at  the  door.  Now  and  then  he  acted 
as  guide  when  young  Vaudin  could  not  fill  that  office,  or 
had  more  parties  than  he  could  manage ;  and  Tardif  was 
now  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  weekly  stream  of  tourists. 
He  came  to  me  instantly,  and  we  sat  down  on  a  low  stone 
wall  on  the  roadside,  but  well  out  of  hearing  of  any  ears 
but  each  other's. 

"Tardif,"  I  said,  "has  mam'zelle  told  you  her  secret?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  answered;  "poor  little  soul!  and  she  is 
a  hundredfold  dearer  to  me  now  than  before." 

He  looked  as  if  he  meant  it,  for  his  eyes  moistened  and 
his  face  quivered. 

"  She  is  in  great  danger  at  this  moment,"  I  continued. 
"A  woman  sent  by  her  husband  has  been  lurking  about 
Guernsey  to  get  news  of  her,  and  she  has  come  across  in 
the  steamer  to-day.  She  will  be  in  sight  of  us  in  a  few 
minutes.  There  is  no  chance  of  her  not  learning  where 
she  is  living.  But  could  we  not  hide  Olivia  somewhere? 
There  are  caves  strangers  know  nothing  of.  We  might 
take  her  over  to  Breckhou.  Be  quick,  Tardif!  we  must 
decide  at  once  what  to  do." 

"  But  mam'zelle  is  not  here.     She  is  gone!  " 

"  Gone !  "  I  ejaculated.  I  could  not  utter  another  word ; 
but  I  stared  at  him  as  if  my  eyes  could  tear  further  infor- 
mation from  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "that  lady  came  last  week  with  Miss 
Dobree,  your  cousin.  Then  mam'zelle  told  me  all,  and 
we  took  counsel  together.  It  was  not  safe  for  her  to  stay 
any  longer,  though  I  would  have  died  for  her  gladly. 
But  what  could  be  done?  We  knew  she  must  go  else- 
where, and  the  next  morning  I  rowed  her  over  to  Peter- 
port  in  time  for  the  steamer  to  England.  Poor  little  thing ! 
poor  little  hunted  soul!  " 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  267 

His  voice  faltered  as  he  spoke,  and  he  drew  his  fisher- 
man's cap  down  over  his  eyes.  I  did  not  speak  again  for 
a  minute  or  two. 

"  Tardif,"  I  said  at  last,  as  the  foremost  among  the  tour- 
ists came  in  sight,  "did  she  leave  no  message  for  me?  " 

"  She  wrote  a  letter  for  you,"  he  said,  "  the  very  last 
thing.  She  did  not  go  to  bed  that  night,  neither  did  I.  I 
was  going  to  lose  her,  doctor,  and  she  had  been  like  the 
light  of  the  sun  to  me.  But  what  could  I  do?  She  was 
terrified  to  death  at  the  thought  of  her  husband  claiming 
her.  I  promised  to  give  the  letter  into  your  own  hands ; 
but  we  settled  I  must  not  show  myself  in  Peter -port  the 
day  she  left.     Here  it  is." 

It  had  been  lying  in  his  breast-pocket,  and  the  edges 
were  worn  already.  He  gave  it  to  me  lingeringly,  as  if 
loth  to  part  with  it.  The  tourists  were  coming  up  in 
greater  numbers,  and  I  made  a  retreat  hastily  toward  a 
quiet  and  remote  part  of  the  cliffs  seldom  visited  in  Little 
Sark. 

There,  with  the  sea,  which  had  carried  her  away  from 
me,  playing  buoyantly  among  the  rocks,  I  read  her  fare- 
well letter.    It  ran  thus : 

"  My  dear  Friend  : — I  am  glad  I  can  call  you  my 
friend,  though  nothing  can  ever  come  of  our  friendship — 
nothing,  for  we  may  not  see  one  another  as  other  friends 
do.  My  life  was  ruined  four  years  ago,  and  every  now 
and  then  I  see  afresh  how  complete  and  terrible  the  ruin 
is.  Yet  if  I  had  known  beforehand  how  your  life  would 
be  linked  with  mine,  I  would  have  done  anything  in  my 
power  to  save  you  from  sharing  in  my  ruin.  Ought  I  to 
have  told  you  at  once  that  I  was  married?  But  just  that 
was  my  secret,  and  it  seemed  so  much  safer  while  no  one 
knew  it  but  myself.     I   did   not   see,  as  I  do  now,  that  I 


268  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

was  acting  a  falsehood.  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  help  do- 
ing that.  It  is  as  shocking  to  me  as  to  you.  Do  not 
judge  me  harshly. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  speak  to  you  about  my  marriage.  I 
was  very  young  and  very  miserable ;  any  change  seemed 
better  than  living  with  my  stepmother.  I  did  not  know 
what  I  was  doing.  The  Saviour  said,  '  Father,  forgive 
them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do.'  I  hope  I  shall 
be  forgiven  by  you,  and  your  mother,  and  God,  for  indeed 
1  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing. 

"  Last  October,  when  I  escaped  from  them,  it  was 
partly  because  I  felt  I  should  soon  be  as  wicked  as  they. 
I  do  not  think  any  one  ought  to  remain  where  there  is 
no  chance  of  being  good.  If  I  am  wrong,  remember  I 
am  not  old  yet.  I  may  learn  what  my  duty  is,  and  then 
I  will  do  it.  I  am  only  waiting  to  find  out  exactly  what  I 
ought  to  do,  and  then  I  will  do  it,  whatever  it  may  be. 

"  Now  I  am  compelled  to  flee  away  again  from  this 
quiet,  peaceful  home,  where  you  and  Tardif  have  been  so 
good  to  me.  I  began  to  feel  perfectly  safe  here,  and  all 
at  once  the  refuge  fails  me.  It  breaks  my  heart,  but  I 
must  go,  and  my  only  gladness  is  that  it  will  be  good  for 
you.  By-and-by  you  will  forget  me,  and  return  to  your 
cousin  Julia,  and  be  happy  just  as  you  once  thought  you 
should  be — as  you  would  have  been  but  for  me.  You 
must  think  of  me  as  one  dead.  I  am  quite  dead — lost  to 
you. 

"  Yet  I  know  you  will  sometimes  wish  to  hear  what  has 
become  of  me.  Tardif  will.  And  I  owe  you  both  more 
than  I  can  ever  repay.  But  it  would  not  be  well  for  me 
to  write  often.  I  have  promised  Tardif  that  I  will  write  to 
him  once  a  year,  that  you  and  he  may  know  that  I  am 
still  alive.  When  there  comes  no  letter,  say,  '  Olivia  is 
dead! '  Do  not  be  grieved  for  that;  it  will  be  the  greatest, 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  269 

best  release  God  can  give  me.     Say,  c  Thank  God,  Olivia 
is  dead! ' 
"Good-by,  my  dear  friend;  good-by,  good-by. 

"Olivia." 

The  last  line  was  written  in  a  shaken,  irregular  hand, 
and  her  name  was  half  blotted  out,  as  if  a  tear  had  fallen 
upon  it.  I  remained  there  alone  on  the  wild  and  solitary 
cliffs  until  it  was  time  to  return  to  the  steamer. 

Tardif  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  entrance  of  the  little 
tunnel  through  which  the  road  passes  down  to  the  harbor. 
He  did  not  speak  at  first,  but  he  drew  out  of  his  pocket 
an  old  leather  pouch  filled  with  yellow  papers.  Among 
them  lay  a  long  curling  tress  of  shining  hair.  He  touched 
it  gently  with  his  finger,  as  if  it  had  feeling  and  conscious- 
ness. 

"  You  would  like  to  have  it,  doctor?  "  he  said. 

"  Ay,"  I  answered,  and  that  only.  I  could  not  venture 
upon  another  word. 


270  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE    EBB    OF    LIFE. 

THERE  was  nothing  now  for  me  to  do  but  to  devote 
myself  wholly  to  my  mother. 

I  made  the  malady  under  which  she  was  slowly  sinking 
my  special  study.  There  remained  a  spark  of  hope  yet 
in  my  heart  that  I  might  by  diligent,  intense,  unflagging 
search,  discover  some  remedy  yet  untried,  or  perhaps  un- 
thought  of.  I  succeeded  only  in  alleviating  her  sufferings. 
I  pored  over  every  work  which  treated  of  the  same  class 
of  diseases.  At  last,  in  an  old,  almost-forgotten  book,  I 
came  upon  a  simple  medicament,  which,  united  with  ap- 
pliances made  available  by  modern  science,  gave  her  sen- 
sible relief,  and  without  doubt  tended  to  prolong  her 
shortening  days.  The  agonizing  thought  haunted  me 
that  had  I  come  upon  this  discovery  at  an  earlier  stage  of 
her  illness,  her  life  might  have  been  spared  for  many 
years. 

But  it  was  too  late  now.  She  suffered  less,  and  her 
spirits  grew  calm  and  even.  We  even  ventured,  at  her 
own  wish,  to  spend  a  week  together  in  Sark,  she  and  I — 
a  week  never  to  be  forgotten,  full  of  exquisite  pain  and 
exquisite  enjoyment  to  us  both.  We  re-visited  almost 
every  place  where  we  had  been  many  years  before,  while 
I  was  but  a  child,  and  she  was  still  young  and  strong. 
Tardif  rowed  us  out  in  his  boat  under  the  cliffs.  Then 
we  came  home  again,  and  she  sank  rapidly,  as  if  the 
flame  of  life  had  been  burning  too  quickly  in  the  breath 
of  those  innocent  pleasures. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  271 

Now  she  began  to  be  troubled  again  with  the  dread  of 
leaving  me  alone  and  comfortless.  There  is  no  passage 
in  Christ's  farewell  to  His  disciples  which  touches  me  so 
much  as  those  words,  "  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless ; 
I  will  come  unto  you."  My  mother  could  not  promise  to 
come  back  to  me,  and  her  dying  vision  looked  sorrowfully 
into  the  future  for  me.  Sometimes  she  put  her  fear  into 
words — faltering  and  foreboding  words ;  but  it  was  always 
in  her  eyes,  as  they  followed  me  wherever  I  went  with  a 
mute,  pathetic  anxiety.  No  assurances  of  mine,  no  as- 
sumed cheerfulness  and  fortitude  could  remove  it.  I 
even  tried  to  laugh  at  it,  but  my  laugh  only  brought  the 
tears  into  her  eyes.  Neither  reason  nor  ridicule  could 
root  it  out — a  root  of  bitterness  indeed. 

"  Martin,"  she  said,  in  her  failing,  plaintive  voice,  one 
evening  when  Julia  and  I  were  both  sitting  with  her,  for 
we  met  now  without  any  regard  to  etiquette — "  Martin, 
Julia  and  I  have  been  talking  about  your  future  life  while 
you  were  away." 

Julia's  face  flushed  a  little.  She  was  seated  on  a  foot- 
stool by  my  mother's  sofa,  and  looked  softer  and  gentler 
than  I  had  ever  seen  her  look.  She  had  been  nursing  my 
mother  with  a  single-hearted,  self-forgetful  devotion  that 
had  often  touched  me,  and  had  knit  us  to  one  another  by 
the  common  bond  of  an  absorbing  interest.  Certainly  I 
had  never  leaned  upon  or  loved  Julia  as  I  was  doing  now. 
"  There  is  no  chance  of  your  ever  marrying  Olivia  now," 
continued  my  mother  faintly,  "  and  it  is  a  sin  for  you  to 
cherish  your  love  for  her.  That  is  a  very  plain  duty,  Mar- 
tin." 

"  Such  love  as  I  cherish  for  Olivia  will  hurt  neither  her 
nor  myself,"  I  answered.  "  I  would  not  wrong  her  by  a 
thought." 

"  But  she  can  never  be  your  wife,"  she  said. 


272 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"I  never  think  of  her  as  my  wife,"  I  replied;  "but  I 
can  no  more  cease  to  love  her  than  I  can  cease  to  breathe. 
She  has  become  part  of  my  life,  mother." 

"  Still,  time  and  change  must  make  a  difference,"  she 
said.  "  You  will  realize  your  loneliness  when  I  am  gone, 
though  you  cannot  before.  I  want  to  have  some  idea  of 
what  you  will  be  doing  in  the  years  to  come,  before  we 
meet  again.  If  I  think  at  all  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you, 
and  I  do  long  to  have  some  little  notion.  You  will  not 
mind  me  forming  one  poor  little  plan  for  you  once  more, 
my  boy?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  smiling  to  keep  back  the  tears  that 
were  ready  to  start  to  my  eyes. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  You 
must  not  be  angry  or  offended  with  us.  But  my  dear 
Julia  has  promised  me,  out  of  pure  love  and  pity  for  me, 
you  know,  that  if  ever — how  can  I  express  it? — if  you 
ever  wish  you  could  return  to  the  old  plans — it  may  be  a 
long  time  first,  but  if  you  conquered  your  love  for  Olivia, 
and  could  go  back,  and  wished  to  go  back  to  the  time 
before  you  knew  her— Julia  will  forget  all  that  has  come 
between.  Julia  would  consent  to  marry  you  if  you  asked 
her  to  be  your  wife.  O  Martin,  I  should  die  so  much 
happier  if  I  thought  you  would  ever  marry  Julia,  and  go 
to  live  in  the  house  I  helped  to  get  ready  for  you!  " 

Julia's  head  had  dropped  upon  my  mother's  shoulder, 
and  her  face  was  hidden,  while  my  mother's  eyes  sought 
mine  beseechingly.  I  was  irresistibly  overcome  by  this 
new  proof  of  her  love  for  both  of  us,  for  I  knew  well  what 
a  struggle  it  must  have  been  to  her  to  gain  the  mastery 
over  her  proper  pride  and  just  resentment.  I  knelt  down 
beside  her,  clasping  her  hand  and  my  mother's  in  my 
own. 

"  Mother,  Julia,"  I  said,  "  I  promise  that  if  ever  I  can 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  273 

be  true  in  heart  and  soul  to  a  wife,  I  will  ask  Julia  to  be- 
come mine.  But  it  may  be  many  years  hence;  I  dare  not 
say  how  long.  God  alone  knows  how  dear  Olivia  is  to 
me.  And  Julia  is  too  good  to  waste  herself  upon  so  fool- 
ish a  fellow.  She  may  change,  and  see  some  one  she  can 
love  better." 

"That  is  nonsense,  Martin,*'  answered  Julia,  with  a 
ring  of  the  old  sharpness  in  her  tone ;  "  at  my  age  I  am 
not  likely  to  fall  in  love  again.  Don't  be  afraid,  aunt ;  I 
shall  not  change,  and  I  will  take  care  of  Martin.  His 
home  is  ready,  and  he  will  come  back  to  me  some  day, 
and  it  will  all  be  as  you  wish." 

I  know  that  promise  of  ours  comforted  her,  for  she 
never  lamented  over  my  coming  solitude  again. 

I  have  very  little  more  I  can  say  about  her.  When  I 
look  back  and  try  to  write  more  fully  of  those  last,  linger- 
ing days,  my  heart  fails  me.  The  darkened  room,  the 
muffled  sounds,  the  loitering,  creeping,  yet  too  rapid 
hours!  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  Julia,  of  Olivia,  or  of 
myself;  I  was  wrapped  up  in  her. 

One  evening — we  were  quite  alone — she  called  me  to 
come  closer  to  her,  in  that  faint  far-off  voice  of  hers, 
which  seemed  already  to  be  speaking  from  another  world. 
I  was  sitting  so  near  to  her  that  I  could  touch  her  with 
my  hand,  but  she  wanted  me  nearer — with  my  arm  across 
her,  and  my  cheek  against  hers. 

"  My  boy,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  going." 

"Not  yet,  mother,"  I  cried;  "not  yet!  I  have  so  much 
to  say.     Stay  with  me  a  day  or  two  longer." 

"  If  I  could,"  she  murmured,  every  word  broken  with 
her  panting  breath,  "I  would  stay  wi^Ji  you  forever!  Be 
patient  with  your  father,  Martin.  Say  good-by  for  me 
to  him  and  Julia.     Don't  stir.     Let  me  die  so!  " 

"  You  shall  not  die,  mother,"  I  said  passionately 
18 


274 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"There  is  no  pain,"  she  whispered— "  no  pain  at  all; 
it  is  taken  away.  I  am  only  sorry  for  my  boy.  What  will 
he  do  when  I  am  gone?     Where  are  you,  Martin.'" 

"I  am  here,  mother!"  I  answered;  "close  to  you. 
0  God!     I  would  go  with  you  if  I  could." 

Then  she  lay  still  for  a  time,  pressing  my  arm  about 
her  with  her  feeble  fingers.  Would  she  speak  to  me  no 
more?  Had  the  dearest  voice  in  the  world  gone  away 
altogether  into  that  far-off  and,  to  us,  silent  country 
whither  the  dying  go?  Dumb,  blind,  deaf  to  me  ?  She 
was  breathing  yet,  and  her  heart  fluttered  faintly  against 
my  arm.     Would  not  my  mother  know  me  again? 

"  O  Martin !  "  she  murmured,  "  there  is  great  love  in 
store  for  us  all!  I  did  not  know  how  great  the  love  was 
till  now!  " 

There  had  been  a  quicker,  more  irregular  throbbing  of 
her  heart  as  she  spoke.  Then — I  waited,  but  there  came 
no  other  pulsation  Suddenly  I  felt  as  if  I  also  must  be 
dying,  for  I  passed  into  a  state  of  utter  darkness  and  un- 
consciousness. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  275 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

A    DISCONSOLATE    WIDOWER. 

MY  senses  returned  painfully,  with  a  dull  and  blunted 
perception  that  some  great  calamity  had  overtaken 
me.  I  was  in  my  mothers  dressing  room,  and  Julia  was 
holding  to  my  nostrils  some  sharp  essence,  which  had 
penetrated  to  the  brain  and  brought  back  consciousness. 
My  father  was  sitting  by  the  empty  grate,  sobbing  and 
weeping  vehemently.  The  door  into  my  mother's  bed- 
room was  closed.  I  knew  instantly  what  was  going  on 
there. 

I  suppose  no  man  ever  fainted  without  being  ashamed 
of  it.  Even  in  the  agony  of  my  awakening  consciousness 
I  felt  the  inevitable  sting  of  shame  and  my  weakness 
and  womanishness.  I  pushed  away  Julia's  hand,  and 
raised  myself.  I  got  up  on  my  feet  and  walked  unstead- 
ily and  blindly  toward  the  shut  door. 

"  Martin,"  said  Julia,  "you  must  not  go  back  there.  It 
is  all  over." 

I  heard  my  father  calling  me  in  a  broken  voice,  and  I 
turned  to  him.  His  frame  was  shaken  by  the  violence 
of  his  sobs,  and  he  could  not  lift  up  his  head  from  his 
hands.  There  was  no  effort  at  self-control  about  him. 
At  times  his  cries  grew  loud  enough  to  be  heard  all  over 
the  house. 

"O  my  son!"  he  said,  "we  shall  never  see  any  one 
like  your  poor  mother  again!  She  was  the  best  wife  any 
man  ever  had !     Oh,  what  a  loss  she  is  to  me !  " 


276  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  could  not  speak  of  her  just  then,  nor  could  I  say  a 
word  to  comfort  him.  She  had  bidden  me  be  patient  with 
him,  but  already  I  found  the  task  almost  beyond  me.  I 
told  Julia  I  was  going  up  to  my  own  room  for  the  rest  of 
the  night,  if  there  were  nothing  for  me  to  do.  She  put 
her  arms  round  my  neck  and  kissed  me  as  if  she  had  been 
my  sister,  telling  me  I  could  leave  everything  to  her. 
Then  I  went  away  into  the  solitude  that  had  indeed  be- 
gun to  close  around  me. 

When  the  heart  of  a  man  is  solitary,  there  is  no  society 
for  him  even  among  a  crowd  of  friends.  All  deep  love 
and  close  companionship  seemed  stricken  out  of  my  life. 

We  laid  her  in  the  cemetery,  in  a  grave  where  the  wide- 
spreading  branches  of  some  beech-trees  threw  a  pleasant 
shadow  over  it  during  the  day.  At  times  the  moan  of 
the  sea  could  be  heard  there,  when  the  surf  rolled  in 
strongly  upon  the  shore  of  Cobo  Bay.  The  white  crest 
of  the  waves  could  be  seen  from  it,  tossing  over  the 
sunken  reefs  at  sea ;  yet  it  lay  in  the  heart  of  our  island. 
She  had  chosen  the  spot  for  herself,  not  very  long  ago, 
when  we  had  been  there  together.  Now  I  went  there 
alone. 

I  counted  my  father  and  his  loud  grief  as  nothing. 
There  was  neither  sympathy  nor  companionship  between 
us.  He  was  very  vehement  in  his  lamentations,  repeating 
to  every  one  who  came  to  condole  with  us  that  there  never 
had  lived  such  a  wife,  and  his  loss  was  the  greatest  that 
man  could  bear.     His  loss  was  nothing  to  mine. 

Yet  I  did  draw  a  little  nearer  to  him  in  the  first  few 
weeks  of  our  bereavement.  Almost  insensibly  I  fell  into 
our  old  plan  of  sharing  the  practice,  for  he  was  often  un- 
fit to  go  out  and  see  our  patients.  The  house  was  very 
desolate  now,  and  soon  lost  those  little  delicate  traces  of 
feminine  occupancy  which  constitute  the  charm  of  a  home, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  277 

and  to  which  we  had  been  all  our  lives  accustomed.  Julia 
could  not  leave  her  own  household,  even  if  it  had  been 
possible  for  her  to  return  to  her  place  in  our  deserted 
dwelling.  The  flowers  faded  and  died  unchanged  in  the 
vases,  and  there  was  no  dainty  woman's  work  lying  about 
— that  litter  of  white  and  colored  shreds  of  silk  and  mus- 
lin, which  give  to  a  room  an  inhabited  appearance.  These 
were  so  familiar  to  me,  that  the  total  absence  of  them 
was  like  the  barrenness  of  a  garden  without  flowers  in 
bloom. 

My  father  did  not  feel  this  as  I  did,  for  he  was  not 
often  at  home  after  the  first  violence  of  his  grief  had  spent 
itself.  Julia's  house  was  open  to  him  in  a  manner  it 
could  not  be  open  to  me.  I  was  made  welcome  there,  it 
is  true ;  but  Julia  was  not  unembarrassed  and  at  home 
with  me.  The  half-engagement  renewed  between  us  ren- 
dered it  difficult  to  us  both  to  meet  on  the  simple  ground 
of  friendship  and  relationship.  Moreover.  I  shrank  from 
setting  gossips'  tongues  going  again  on  the  subject  of  my 
chances  of  marrying  my  cousin ;  so  I  remained  at  home, 
alone,  evening  after  evening,  unless  I  was  called  out  pro- 
fessionally, declining  all  invitations,  and  brooding  un- 
wholesomely  over  my  grief.  There  is  no  more  cowardly 
a  way  of  meeting  a  sorrow.  But  I  was  out  of  heart  and 
no  words  could  better  express  the  morbid  melancholy  I 
was  sinking  into. 

There  was  some  tedious  legal  business  to  go  through, 
for  my  mother's  small  property,  bringing  in  a  hundred  a 
year,  came  to  me  on  her  death.  I  could  not  alienate  it, 
but  I  wished  Julia  to  receive  the  income  as  part  payment 
of  my  father's  defalcations.  She  would  not  listen  to  such 
a  proposal  and  she  showed  me  that  she  had  a  shrewd  no- 
tion of  the  true  state  of  our  finances.  They  were  in  such 
a  state  that  if  I  left  Guernsey  with  my  little  income  my 


278  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

father  would  positively  find  some  difficulty  in  making 
both  ends  meet ;  the  more  so  as  I  was  becoming  decidedly 
the  favorite  with  our  patients,  who  began  to  call  him 
slightingly  the  "old  doctor."  No  path  opened  up  for 
me  in  any  other  direction.  It  appeared  as  if  I  were  to 
be  bound  to  the  place  which  was  no  longer  a  home  to  me. 

I  wrote  to  this  effect  to  Jack  Senior,  who  was  urging 
my  return  to  England.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  be- 
lieve that  this  dreary,  monotonous  routine  of  professional 
duties,  of  very  little  interest  or  importance,  was  all  that 
life  should  offer  to  me.  Yet  for  the  present  my  duty  was 
plain.     There  was  no  help  for  it. 

I  made  some  inquiries  at  the  lodging-house  in  Vauvert 
Road,  and  learned  that  the  person  who  had  been  in  search 
of  Olivia  had  left  Guernsey  about  the  time  when  I  was 
so  fully  engrossed  with  my  mother  as  to  have  but  little 
thought  for  any  one  else.  Of  Olivia  there  was  neither 
trace  nor  tidings.  Tardif  came  up  to  see  me  whenever 
he  crossed  over  from  Sark,  but  he  had  no  information  to 
give  me.  The  chances  were  that  she  was  in  London; 
but  she  was  as  much  lost  to  me  as  if  she  had  been  lying 
beside  my  mother  under  the  green  turf  of  Foulon  Cem- 
etery. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


279 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

THE    WIDOWER    COMFORTED. 

IN  this  manner  three  months  passed  slowly  away  after 
my  mother's  death.  Dr.  Dobree,  who  was  utterly  in- 
consolable the  first  few  weeks,  fell  into  all  his  old  maun- 
dering, philandering  ways  again,  spending  hours  upon  his 
toilet,  and  paying  devoted  attentions  to  every  passable 
woman  who  came  across  his  path.  My  temper  grew  like 
touch-wood;  the  least  spark  would  set  it  in  a  blaze.  I 
could  not  take  such  things  in  good  part. 

We  had  been  at  daggers  drawn  for  a  day  or  two,  he  and 
I,  when  one  morning  I  was  astonished  by  the  appearance 
of  Julia  in  our  consulting-room,  soon  after  my  father,  hav- 
ing dressed  himself  elaborately,  had  quitted  the  house. 
Julia's  face  was  ominous,  the  upper  lip  very  straight,  and 
a  frown  upon  her  brow.  I  wondered  what  could  be  the 
matter,  but  I  held  my  tongue.  My  knowledge  of  Julia 
was  intimate  enough  for  me  to  hit  upon  the  right  moment 
for  speech  or  silence — a  rare  advantage.  It  was  the  time 
to  refrain  from  speaking.  Julia  was  no  termagant — sim- 
ply a  woman  who  had  had  her  own  way  all  her  life,  and 
was  so  sure  it  was  the  best  way,  that  she  could  not  un- 
derstand why  other  people  should  wish  to  have  theirs. 

"  Martin,"  she  began  in  a  low  key,  but  one  that  might 
run  up  to  shrillness  if  advisable,  "  I  am  come  to  tell  you 
something  that  fills  me  with  shame  and  anger.  I  do  not 
know  how  to  contain  myself.  I  could  never  have  believed 
that   I   could  have    been  so  blind  and  foolish.     But  it 


280  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

seems  as  if  I  were  doomed  to  be  deceived  and  disappointed 
on  every  hand — I  who  would  not  deceive  or  disappoint 
anybody  in  the  world.  I  declare  it  makes  me  quite  ill 
to  think  of  it.     Just  look  at  my  hands,  how  they  tremble." 

"  Your  nervous  system  is  out  of  order,"  I  remarked. 

"  It  is  the  world  that  is  out  of  order,"  she  said  petulantly ; 
"  I  am  well  enough.  Oh,  I  do  not  know  however  I  am 
to  tell  you.  There  are  some  things  it  is  a  shame  to  speak 
of." 

"  Must  you  speak  of  them?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes ;  you  must  know,  you  will  have  to  know  all,  sooner 
or  later.  If  there  was  any  hope  of  it  corning  to  nothing, 
I  should  try  to  spare  you  this ;  but  they  are  both  so  bent 
upon  disgracing  themselves,  so  deaf  to  reason!  If  my 
poor,  dear  aunt  knew  of  it  she  could  not  rest  in  her  grave. 
Martin,  cannot  you  guess?  Are  men  born  so  dull  that 
they  cannot  see  what  is  going  on  under  their  own  eyes?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  what  you  are  driving  at,"  I 
answered.  "  Sit  down,  my  dear  Julia,  and  calm  yourself. 
Shall  I  give  you  a  glass  of  wine?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  How 
long  is  it  since  my  poor,  dear  aunt  died?  " 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I  do,"  I  replied,  wondering  that 
she  should  touch  the  wound  so  roughly.  "  Three  months 
next  Sunday." 

"And  Dr.  Dobree,"  she  said  in  a  bitter  accent — then 
stopped,  looking  me  full  in  the  face.  I  had  never  heard 
her  call  my  father  Dr.  Dobree  in  my  life.  She  was  very 
fond  of  him,  and  attracted  by  him  as  most  women  were, 
and  as  few  women  are  attracted  by  me.  Even  now,  with 
all  the  difference  in  our  age,  the  advantage  being  on  my 
side,  it  was  seldom  I  succeeded  in  pleasing  as  much  as 
he  did.  I  gazed  back  in  amazement  at  Julia's  dark  and 
moody  face. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  281 

"  What  now?  "  I  asked.  "  What  has  my  unlucky  father 
been  doing  now?  " 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  stamping  her  foot  while  the 
blood  mantled  to  her  forehead,  "  Dr.  Dobree  is  in  haste 
to  take  a  second  wife!  He  is  indeed,  my  poor  Martin. 
He  wishes  to  be  married  immediately  to  that  viper,  Kate 
Daltrey." 

"  Impossible !  "  I  cried,  stung  to  the  quick  by  these 
words.  I  remembered  my  mother's  mild,  instinctive  dis- 
like to  Kate  Daltrey,  and  her  harmless  hope  that  I  would 
not  go  over  to  her  side.  Go  over  to  her  side !  No.  If 
she  set  her  foot  into  this  house  as  my  mother's  successor, 
I  would  never  dwell  under  the  same  roof.  As  soon  as 
my  father  made  her  his  wife  I  would  cut  myself  adrift 
from  them  both.  But  he  knew  that ;  he  would  never  ven- 
ture to  outrage  my  mother's  memory  or  my  feelings  in 
such  a  flagrant  manner. 

"  It  is  possible,  for  it  is  true,"  said  Julia.  She  had  not 
let  her  voice  rise  above  its  low,  angry  key,  and  now  it 
sank  nearly  to  a  whisper,  as  she  glanced  round  at  the  door. 
"They  have  understood  each  other  these  four  weeks. 
You  may  call  it  an  engagement,  for  it  is  one ;  and  I  never 
suspected  them,  not  for  a  moment!  He  came  down  to 
my  house  to  be  comforted,  he  said ;  his  house  was  so 
dreary  now.  And  I  was  as  blind  as  a  mole.  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself,  dear  Martin.  I  knew  he  was  given  to  all 
that  kind  of  thing,  but  then  he  seemed  to  mourn  for  my 
poor  aunt  so  deeply,  and  was  so  heart-broken.  He  made 
ten  times  more  show  of  it  than  you  did.  I  have  heard 
people  say  you  bore  it  very  well,  and  were  quite  unmoved, 
but  I  knew  better.  Everybody  said  he  could  never  get 
over  it.  Couldn't  you  take  out  a  commission  of  lunacy 
against  him?     He  must  be  mad  to  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  How  did  you  find  it  out?  "  I  inquired. 


282  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"Oh,  I  was  so  ashamed!  "  she  said.  "You  see  I  had 
not  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  suspicion.  I  had  left  them 
in  the  drawing-room  to  go  up-stairs,  and  I  thought  of 
something  I  wanted,  and  went  back  suddenly,  and  there 
they  were — his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  her  head  on 
his  shoulder — he  with  his  gray  hairs  too!  She  says  she  is 
the  same  age  as  I,  but  she  is  forty  if  she  is  a  day.  The 
simpletons!  I  did  not  know  what  to  say,  or  how  to  look. 
I  could  not  get  out  of  the  room  again  as  if  I  had  not 
seen,  for  I  cried  '  Oh ! '  at  the  first  sight  of  them.  Then 
I  stood  staring  at  them ;  but  I  think  they  felt  as  uncom- 
fortable as  I  did." 

"What  did  they  say?  "  I  asked  sternly. 

"  Oh,  he  came  up  to  me  quite  in  his  dramatic  way,  you 
know,  trying  to  carry  it  off  by  looking  grand  and  majestic; 
and  he  was  going  to  take  my  hand  and  lead  me  to  her, 
but  I  would  not  stir  a  step.  '  My  love,'  he  said,  '  I  am 
about  to  steal  your  friend  from  you.'  'She  is  no  friend 
of  mine,'  I  said,  '  if  she  is  going  to  be  what  all  this  in- 
timates, I  suppose,  I  will  never  speak  to  her  or  you  again, 
Dr.  Dobree.'  Upon  that  he  began  to  weep  and  protest 
and  declaim,  while  she  sat  still  and  glared  at  me.  I  never 
thought  her  eyes  could  look  like  that.  '  When  do  you 
mean  to  be  married? '  I  asked,  for  he  made  no  secret  of 
his  intention  to  make  her  his  wife.  '  What  is  the  good 
of  waiting?'  he  said.  'My  home  is  miserable  with  no 
woman  in  it.'  '  Uncle,'  I  said,  '  if  you  will  promise  me  to 
give  up  the  idea  of  a  second  marriage,  which  is  ridiculous 
at  your  age,  I  will  come  back  to  you,  in  spite  of  all  the 
awkwardness  of  my  position  with  regard  to  Martin.  For 
my  aunt's  sake  I  will  come  back.'  Even  an  arrangement 
like  this  would  be  better  than  his  marriage  with  that 
woman — don't  you  think  so?  " 

"A  hundred  times  better,"  I  said  warmly.     "It  was 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  283 

very  good  of  you,  Julia.  But  he  would  not  agree  to  that, 
would  he?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  He  swore  that  Kate  was  as 
dear  to  him  as  ever  my  poor  aunt  was.  He  vowed  he 
could  not  live  without  her  and  her  companionship.  He 
maintained  that  his  age  did  not  make  it  ridiculous.  Kate 
hid  her  brazen  face  in  her  hands,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  That  made  him  ten  times  worse  an  idiot.  He  knelt 
down  before  her,  and  implored  her  to  look  at  him.  I  re- 
minded him  how  all  the  island  would  rise  against  him — 
worse  than  it  did  against  you,  Martin — and  he  declared 
he  did  not  care  a  fig  for  the  island!  I  asked  him  how  he 
would  face  the  Careys,  and  the  Brocks,  and  the  De  Sau- 
marez,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  and  he  snapped  his  fingers 
at  them  all.     Oh,  he  must  be  going  out  of  his  mind." 

I  shook  my  head.  Knowing  him  as  thoroughly  as  a 
long  and  close  study  could  help  me  to  know  any  man,  I 
was  less  surprised  than  Julia,  who  had  only  seen  him  from 
a  woman's  point  of  view,  and  had  always  been  lenient  to 
his  faults.     Unfortunately  I  knew  my  father  too  well. 

"  Then  I  talked  to  him  about  the  duty  he  owed  to  our 
family  name,"  she  resumed,  "  and  I  went  so  far  as  to  re- 
mind him  of  what  I  had  done  to  shield  him  and  it  from 
disgrace,  and  he  mocked  at  it — positively  mocked  at  it! 
He  said  there  was  no  sort  of  parallel.  It  would  be  no 
dishonor  to  our  house  to  receive  Kate  into  it,  even  if  they 
were  married  at  once.  What  did  it  signify  to  the  world 
that  only  three  months  had  elapsed?  Besides,  he  did  not 
mean  to  marry  her  for  a  month  to  come,  as  the  house 
would  need  beautifying  for  her — beautifying  for  her. 
Neither  had  he  spoken  of  it  to  you;  but  he  had  no  doubt 
you  would  be  willing  to  go  on  as  you  have  done." 

"Never!"  I  said. 

"  I  was  sure  not,"  continued  Julia.     "  I  told  him  I  was 


284  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

convinced  you  would  leave  Guernsey  again,  but  he  pooh- 
poohed  that.  I  asked  him  how  he  was  to  live  without 
any  practice,  and  he  said  his  old  patients  might  turn  him 
off  for  a  while,  but  they  would  be  glad  to  send  for  him 
again.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  obstinately  bent  upon  his 
own  ruin." 

"Julia,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  leave  Guernsey  before  this 
marriage  can  come  off.  I  would  rather  break  stones  on 
the  highway  than  stay  to  see  that  woman  in  my  mother's 
place.     My  mother  disliked  her  from  the  first." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  replied,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "and  I 
thought  it  was  nothing  but  prejudice.  It  was  my  fault, 
bringing  her  to  Guernsey.  But  I  could  not  bear  the  idea 
of  her  coming  as  mistress  here.  I  said  so  distinctly. 
'Dr.  Dobree,'  I  said,  'you  must  let  me  remind  you  that 
the  house  is  mine,  though  you  have  paid  me  no  rent  for 
years.  If  you  ever  take  Kate  Daltrey  into  it,  I  will  put 
my  affairs  into  a  notary's  hands.  I  will,  upon  my  word, 
and  Julia  Dobree  never  broke  her  word  yet.'  That 
brought  him  to  his  senses  better  than  anything.  He 
turned  very  pale,  and  sat  down  beside  Kate,  hardly  know- 
ing what  to  say.  Then  she  began.  She  said  if  I  was 
cruel,  she  would  be  cruel  too.  Whatever  -grieved  you 
Martin,  would  grieve  me,  and  she  would  let  her  brother 
Richard  Foster  know  where  Olivia  was." 

"  Does  she  know  where  she  is?  "  I  asked  eagerly,  in  a 
tumult  of  surprise  and  hope. 

"  Why,  in  Sark,  of  course,"  she  replied. 

"  What !  Did  you  never  know  that  Olivia  left  Sark, 
before  my  mother's  death?  "  I  said,  with  a  chill  of  disap- 
pointment. "  Did  I  never  tell  you  she  was  gone,  nobody 
knows  where?  " 

"  You  have  never  spoken  of  her  in  my  hearing  except 
once — you  recollect  when,   Martin?     We  have  supposed 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  285 

she  was  still  living  in  Tardif  s  house.  Then  there  is  noth- 
ing to  prevent  me  from  carrying  out  my  threat.  Kate 
Daltrey  shall  never  enter  this  house  as  mistress." 

"Would  you  have  given  it  up  for  Olivia's  sake? "  I 
asked,  marvelling  at  her  generosity. 

"  I  should  have  done  it  for  your  sake,"  she  answered 
frankly. 

"  But,"  I  said,  reverting  to  our  original  topic,  "  if  my 
father  has  set  his  mind  upon  marrying  Kate  Daltrey,  he 
will  brave  anything." 

"  He  is  a  dotard,"  replied  Julia.  "  He  positively  makes 
me  dread  growing  old.  Who  knows  what  follies  one  may 
be  guilty  of  in  old  age !  I  never  felt  afraid  of  it  before. 
Kate  says  she  has  two  hundred  a  year  of  her  own,  and 
they  will  go  and  live  on  that  in  Jersey,  if  Guernsey  be- 
comes unpleasant  to  them.  Martin,  she  is  a  viper — she 
is  indeed.  And  I  have  made  such  a  friend  of  her!  New 
I  shall  have  no  one  but  you  and  the  Careys.  Why  wasn't 
I  satisfied  with  Johanna  as  my  friend?  " 

She  stayed  an  hour  longer,  turning  over  this  unwelcome 
subject  till  we  had  thoroughly  discussed  every  point  of  it. 
In  the  evening  after  dinner,  I  spoke  to  my  father  briefly 
but  decisively  upon  the  same  topic.  After  a  very  short 
and  very  sharp  conversation,  there  remained  no  alternative 
for  me  but  to  make  up  my  mind  to  try  my  fortune  once 
more  out  of  Guernsey.  I  wrote  by  the  next  mail  to  Jack 
Senior,  telling  him  my  purpose,  and  the  cause  of  it,  and 
by  return  of  post  I  received  his  reply: 

"Dear  Old  Boy: — Why  shouldn't  you  come,  and  go 
halves  with  me?  Dad  says  so.  He  is  giving  up  shop, 
and  going  to  live  in  the  country  at  Fulham.  House  and 
practice  are  miles  too  big  for  me.  '  Senior  and  Dobree,' 
or  '  Dobree  and  Senior,'  whichever  you  please.     If  you 


286 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


come  I  can  pay  dutiful  attention  to  Dad  without  losing 
my  customers.  That  is  his  chief  reason.  Mine  is  that  I 
only  feel  half  myself  without  you  at  hand.  Don't  think 
of  saying  no. 

"Jack." 


It  was  a  splendid  opening,  without  question.  Dr.  Senior 
had  been  in  good  practice  for  more  than  thirty  years,  and 
he  had  quietly  introduced  Jack  to  the  position  he  was 
about  to  resign.  Yet  I  pondered  over  the  proposal  for  a 
whole  week  before  agreeing  to  it.  I  knew  Jack  well 
enough  to  be  sure  he  would  never  regret  his  generosity; 
but  if  I  went  I  would  go  as  junior  partner,  and  with  a 
much  smaller  proportion  of  the  profits  than  that  proffered 
by  Jack.  Finally  I  resolved  to  accept  the  offer,  and  wrote 
to  him  as  to  the  terms  upon  which  alone  I  would  join  him. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  287 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

FINAL    ARRANGEMENTS. 

I  DID  not  wait  for  my  father  to  commit  the  irreparable 
folly  of  his  second  marriage.  Guernsey  had  become 
hateful  to  me.  In  spite  of  my  exceeding  love  for  my  na- 
tive island,  more  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  its  people  than 
any  other  spot  on  earth,  I  could  no  longer  be  happy  or 
at  peace  there.  A  few  persons  urged  me  to  stay  and  live 
down  my  chagrin  and  grief,  but  most  of  my  friends  con- 
gratulated me  on  the  change  of  my  prospects,  and  bade 
me  God-speed.  Julia  could  not  conceal  her  regret,  but  I 
left  her  in  the  charge  of  Captain  Carey  and  Johanna. 
She  promised  to  be  my  faithful  correspondent,  and  I  en- 
gaged to  write  to  her  regularly.  There  existed  between 
us  the  half-betrothal  to  which  we  had  pledegd  ourselves 
at  my  mother's  urgent  request.  She  would  wait  for  the 
time  when  Olivia  was  no  longer  the  first  in  my  heart ; 
then  she  would  be  willing  to  become  my  wife.  But  if 
ever  that  day  came  she  would  require  me  to  give  up  my 
position  in  England,  and  settle  down  for  life  in  Guernsey. 
Fairly,  then,  I  was  launched  upon  the  career  of  a  physi- 
cian in  the  great  city.  The  completeness  of  the  change 
suited  me.  Nothing  here,  in  scenery,  atmosphere,  or  so- 
ciety, could  remind  me  of  the  fretted  past.  The  troubled 
waters  subsided  into  a  dull  calm,  as  far  as  emotional  life 
went.  Intellectual  life,  on  the  contrary,  was  quickened 
in  its  current,  and  day  after  day  drifted  me  farther  away 
from  painful  memories.     To  be  sure,  the  idea  crossed  me 


288  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

often  that  Olivia  might  be  in  London — even  in  the  same 
street  with  me.  I  never  caught  sight  of  a  faded  green 
dress  but  my  steps  were  hurried,  and  I  followed  till  I  was 
sure  that  the  wearer  was  not  Olivia.  But  I  was  aware 
that  the  chances  of  our  meeting  were  so  small  that  I 
could  not  count  upon  them.  Even  if  I  found  her,  what 
then?  She  was  as  far  away  from  me  as  though  the  At- 
lantic rolled  between  us.  If  I  only  knew  that  she  was 
safe,  and  as  happy  as  her  sad  destiny  could  let  her  be,  I 
would  be  content.  For  this  assurance  I  looked  forward 
through  the  long  months  that  must  intervene  before  her 
promised  communication  would  come  to  Tardif. 

Thus  I  was  thrown  entirely  upon  my  profession  for  in- 
terest and  occupation.  I  gave  myself  up  to  it  with  an 
energy  that  amazed  Jack,  and  sometimes  surprised  myself. 
Dr.  Senior,  who,  as  an  old  veteran,  loved  it  with  ardor  for 
its  own  sake,  was  delighted  with  my  enthusiasm.  He 
prophesied  great  things  for  me. 

So  passed  my  first  winter  in  London. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  289 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 


THE    TABLES    TURNED. 


A  DREARY  season  was  that  first  winter  in  London. 
It  happened  quite  naturally  that  here,  as  in  Guern- 
sey, my  share  of  the  practice  fell  among  the  lower  and 
least  important  class  of  patients.  Jack  Senior  had  been 
on  the  field  some  years  sooner,  and  he  was  London-born 
and  London-bred.  All  the  surroundings  of  his  life  fitted 
him  without  a  wrinkle.  He  was  at  home  everywhere,  and 
would  have  counted  the  pulse  of  a  duchess  with  as  little 
emotion  as  that  of  a  dairy-maid.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
could  not  accommodate  myself  altogether  to  haughty  and 
aristocratic  strangers — though  I  am  somewhat  ante-dating 
later  experiences,  for  during  the  winter  our  fashionable 
clients  were  all  out  of  town,  and  our  time  comparatively 
unoccupied.  To  be  at  ease  anywhere  it  was,  at  that  time, 
essential  to  me  to  know  something  of  the  people  with 
whom  I  was  associating — an  insular  trait,  common  to  all 
those  who  are  brought  up  in  a  contracted  and  isolated 
circle. 

Besides  this  rustic  embarrassment  which  hung  like  a 
clog  about  me  out  of  doors,  within  doors  I  missed  wofully 
the  dainty  feminine  ways  I  had  been  used  to.  There  was 
a  trusty  female  servant,  half  cook,  half  housekeeper,  who 
lived  in  the  front  kitchen  and  superintended  our  house- 
hold; but  she  was  not  at  all  the  angel  in  the  house  whom 
I  needed.  It  was  a  well-appointed,  handsome  dwelling, 
but  it  was  terribly  gloomy.  The  heavy,  substantial  leather 
*9 


290  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

chairs  always  remained  undisturbed  in  level  rows  against 
the  wall,  and  the  crimson  cloth  upon  the  table  was  as  bare 
as  a  billiard  table.  A  thimble  lying  upon  it,  or  fallen  on 
the  carpet  and  almost  crushed  by  my  careless  tread,  would 
have  been  as  welcome  a  sight  to  me  as  a  blade  of  grass 
or  a  spring  of  water  in  some  sandy  desert.  The  sound 
of  a  light  foot  and  rustling  dress,  and  low,  soft  voice, 
would  have  been  the  sweetest  music  in  my  ears.  If  a 
young  fellow  of  eight-and-twenty,  with  an  excellent  ap- 
petite and  in  good  health,  could  be  said  to  pine,  I  was  pin- 
ing for  the  pretty,  fondling  woman's  ways  which  had 
quite  vanished  out  of  my  life. 

At  times  my  thoughts  dwelt  upon  my  semi-engagement 
to  Julia.  As  soon  as  I  could  dethrone  the  image  of 
Olivia  from  its  pre-eminence  in  my  heart,  she  was  willing 
to  welcome  me  back  again — a  prodigal  suitor,  who  had 
spent  all  his  living  in  a  far  country.  We  corresponded 
regularly  and  frequently,  and  Julia's  letters  were  always 
good,  sensible,  and  affectionate.  If  our  marriage,  and  all 
the  sequel  to  it,  could  have  been  conducted  by  epistles, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  satisfactory.  But  I  felt  a 
little  doubtful  about  the  termination  of  this  Platonic  friend- 
ship, with  its  half-betrothal.  It  did  not  appear  tome  that 
Olivia's  image  was  fading  in  the  slightest  degree;  no, 
though  I  knew  her  to  be  married,  though  I  was  ignorant 
where  she  was,  though  there  was  not  the  faintest  hope 
within  me  that  she  would  ever  become  mine. 

During  the  quiet,  solitary  evenings,  while  Jack  was  away 
at  some  ball  or  concert,  to  which  I  had  no  heart  to  go, 
my  thoughts  were  pretty  equally  divided  between  my  lost 
mother  and  my  lost  Olivia — lost  in  such  different  ways ! 
It  would  have  grieved  Julia  in  her  very  soul  if  she  could 
have  known  how  rarely,  in  comparison,  I  thought  of  her. 

Yet,  on  the  whole,  there  was  a  certain  sweetness  in  feel- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  291 

ing  myself  not  altogether  cut  off  from  womanly  love  and 
sympathy.  There  was  a  home  always  open  to  me — a 
home,  and  a  wife  devotedly  attached  to  me,  whenever  I 
chose  to  claim  them.  That  was  not  unpleasant  as  a  pros- 
pect. As  soon  as  this  low  fever  of  the  spirit  was  over, 
there  was  a  convalescent  hospital  to  go  to,  where  it  might 
recover  its  original  tone  and  vigor.  At  present  the  fever 
had  too  firm  and  strong  a  hold  for  me  to  pronounce  my- 
self convalescent;  but  if  I  were  to  believe  all  that  sages 
had  said,  there  would  come  a  time  when  I  should  rejoice 
over  my  own  recovery. 

Early  in  the  spring  I  received  a  letter  from  Julia,  de- 
siring me  to  look  out  for  apartments,  somewhere  in  my 
neighborhood,  for  herself,  and  Johanna  and  Captain  Carey. 
They  were  coming  to  London  to  spend  two  or  three 
months  of  the  season.  I  had  not  had  any  task  so  agree- 
able since  I  left  Guernsey.  Jack  was  hospitably  anxious 
for  them  to  come  to  our  own  house,  but  I  knew  they  would 
not  listen  to  such  a  proposal.  I  found  some  suitable 
rooms  for  them,  however,  in  Hanover  Street,  where  I 
could  be  with  them  at  any  time  in  five  minutes. 

On  the  appointed  day  I  met  them  at  Waterloo  Station, 
and  installed  them  in  their  new  apartments. 

It  struck  me  that,  notwithstanding  the  fatigue  of  the 
journey,  Julia  was  looking  better  and  happier  than  I  had 
seen  her  look  for  a  long  time.  Her  black  dress  suited 
her,  and  gave  her  a  style  which  she  never  had  in  colors. 
Her  complexion  looked  dark,  but  not  sallow;  and  her 
brown  hair  was  certainly  more  becomingly  arranged.  Her 
appearance  was  that  of  a  well-bred,  cultivated,  almost 
elegant  woman,  of  whom  no  man  need  be  ashamed. 
Johanna  was  simply  herself,  without  the  least  perceptible 
change.  But  Captain  Carey  again  looked  ten  years 
younger,  and  was  evidently  taking  pains  with  his  appear- 


292  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

ance.  That  suit  of  his  had  never  been  made  in  Guern- 
sey; it  must  have  come  out  of  a  London  establishment. 
His  hair  was  not  so  gray,  and  his  face  was  less  hypochon- 
driac. He  assured  me  that  his  health  had  been  wonder- 
fully good  all  the  winter.  I  was  more  than  satisfied,  I 
was  proud  of  all  my  friends. 

"  We  want  you  to  come  and  have  a  long  talk  with  us 
to-morrow,"  said  Johanna ;  "  it  is  too  late  to-night.  We 
shall  be  busy  shopping  in  the  morning,  but  can  you  come 
in  the  evening?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  answered ;  "  I  am  at  leisure  most  evenings, 
and  I  count  upon  spending  them  with  you.  I  can  escort 
you  to  as  many  places  of  amusement  as  youAvish  to  visit." 

"To-morrow,  then,"  she  said,  "we  shall  take  tea  at 
eight  o'clock." 

I  bade  them  good  night  with  a  lighter  heart  than  I  had 
felt  for  a  long  while.  I  held  Julia's  hand  the  longest, 
looking  into  her  face  earnestly,  till  it  flushed  and  glowed 
a  little  under  my  scrutiny. 

"True  heart!"  I  said  to  myself,  "true  and  constant! 
and  I  have  nothing,  and  shall  have  nothing,  to  offer  it  but 
the  ashes  of  a  dead  passion.  Would  to  heaven,"  I  thought, 
as  I  paced  along  Brook  Street,  "  I  had  never  been  fated 
to  see  Olivia!  " 

I  was  punctual  to  my  time  the  next  day.  The  dull,  stiff 
drawing-room  was  already  invested  with  those  tokens  of 
feminine  occupancy  which  I  missed  so  greatly  in  our  much 
handsomer  house.  There  were  flowers  blooming  in  the 
centre  of  the  tea-table,  and  little  knick-knacks  lay  strewed 
about.  Julia's  work-basket  stood  on  a  little  stand  near 
the  window.  There  was  the  rustle  and  movement  of  their 
dresses,  the  noiseless  footsteps,  the  subdued  voices  caress- 
ing my  ear.  I  sat  among  them  quiet  and  silent,  but  re- 
velling in  this  partial  return  of  olden  times.     When  Julia 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


293 


poured  out  my  tea,  and  passed  it  to  me  with  her  white 
hand,  I  felt  inclined  to  kiss  her  jewelled  ringers.  If  Cap- 
tain Carey  had  not  been  present  I  think  I  should  have 
done  so. 

We  lingered  over  the  pleasant  meal  as  if  time  were 
made  expressly  for  that  purpose,  instead  of  hurrying  over 
it,  as  Jack  and  I  were  wont  to  do.  At  the  close  Captain 
Carey  announced  that  he  was  about  to  leave  us  alone  to- 
gether for  an  hour  or  two.  I  went  down  to  the  door  with 
him,  for  he  had  made  me  a  mysterious  signal  to  follow 
him.  In  the  hall  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and 
whispered  a  few  incomprehensible  sentences  into  my  ear. 

"  Don't  think  anything  of  me,  my  boy.  Don't  sacrifice 
yourself  for  me.  I'm  an  old  fellow  compared  to  you, 
though  I'm  not  fifty  yet;  everybody  in  Guernsey  knows 
that.  So  put  me  out  of  the  question,  Martin.  '  There's 
many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip.'  That  I  know 
quite  well,  my  dear  fellow." 

He  was  gone  before  I  could  ask  for  an  explanation, 
and  I  saw  him  tearing  off  toward  Regent  Street.  I  re- 
turned to  the  drawing-room,  pondering  over  his  words. 
Johanna  and  Julia  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  a  sofa,  in 
the  darkest  corner  of  the  room — though  the  light  was  by 
no  means  brilliant  anywhere,  for  the  three  gas-jets  were 
set  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  turn  on  much  gas. 

"Come  here,  Martin,"  said  Johanna,  "we  wish  to  con- 
sult you  on  a  subject  of  great  importance  to  us  all." 

I  drew  up  a  chair  opposite  to  them,  and  sat  down,  much 
as  if  it  was  about  to  be  a  medical  consultation.  I  felt 
almost  as  if  I  must  feel  somebody's  pulse,  and  look  at 
somebody's  tongue. 

"  It  is  nearly  eight  months  since  your  poor  dear  mother 
died,"  remarked  Johanna. 

Eight  months!     Yes;    and  no  one  knew  what  those 


294 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


eight  months  had  been  to  me — how  desolate!  how 
empty! 

"  You  recollect,"  continued  Johanna,  "  how  her  heart 
was  set  on  your  marriage  with  Jufta,  and  the  promise  you 
both  made  to  her  on  her  death-bed?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  bending  forward  and  pressing  Julia's 
hand,  "  I  remember  every  word." 

There  was  a  minute's  silence  after  this;  and  I  waited 
in  some  wonder  as  to  what  this  prelude  was  leading  to. 

"  Martin,"  asked  Johanna,  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  are  you 
forgetting  Olivia?" 

"  No,"  I  said,  dropping  Julia's  hand  as  the  image  of 
Olivia  flashed  across  me  reproachfully,  "  not  at  all.  What 
would  you  have  me  say  ?  She  is  as  dear  to  me  at  this 
moment  as  she  ever  was." 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  so,"  she  replied ;  "  I  did  not 
think  yours  was  a  love  that  would  quickly  pass  away,  if 
it  ever  does.  There  are  men  who  can  love  with  the  con- 
stancy of  a  woman.     Do  you  know  anything  of  her  ?  " 

"Nothing!"  I  said  despondently;  "I  have  no  clue  as 
to  where  she  may  be  now." 

"  Nor  has  Tardif,"  she  continued ;  "  my  brother  and  I 
went  across  to  Sark  last  week  to  ask  him." 

"  That  was  very  good  of  you,"  I  interrupted. 

"  It  was  partly  for  our  own  sakes,"  she  said,  blushing 
faintly.  "  Martin,  Tardif  says  that  if  you  have  once  loved 
Olivia,  it  is  once  for  all.  You  would  never  conquer  it. 
Do  you  think  that  this  is  true?     Be  candid  with  us." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  true.  I  could  never  love 
again  as  I  love  Olivia." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Martin,"  said  Johanna,  very  softly, 
"  do  you  wish  to  keep  Julia  to  her  promise  ?  " 

I  started  violently.  What!  did  Julia  wish  to  be  re- 
leased from  that  semi-engagement,  and  be  free?     Was  it 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


295 


possible  that  any  one  else  coveted  my  place  in  her  affec- 
tions, and  in  the  new  house  which  we  had  fitted  up  for 
ourselves?  I  felt  like  the  dog  in  the  manger.  It  seemed 
an  unheard-of  encroachment  for  any  person  to  come  be- 
tween my  cousin  Julia  and  me. 

"  Do  you  ask  me  to  set  you  free  from  your  promise, 
Julia?"  I  asked,  somewhat  sternly. 

"  Why,  Martin,"  she  said,  averting  her  face  from  me, 
"you  know  I  should  never  consent  to  marry  you,  with  the 
idea  of  your  caring  most  for  that  girl.  No,  I  could  never 
do  that.  If  I  believed  you  would  ever  think  of  me  as 
you  used  to  do  before  you  saw  her,  well,  I  would  keep 
true  to  you.     But  is  there  any  hope  of  that?  " 

"  Let  us  be  frank  with  one  another,"  I  answered ;  "  tell 
me,  is  there  any  one  else  whom  you  would  marry  if  I  re- 
leased you  from  this  promise,  which  was  only  given,  per- 
haps, to  soothe  my  mothers  last  hours?" 

Julia  hung  her  head,  and  did  not  speak.  Her  lips  trem- 
bled. I  saw  her  take  Johanna's  hand  and  squeeze  it,  as 
if  to  urge  her  to  answer  the  question. 

"  Martin,"  said  Johanna,  "  your  happiness  is  dear  to 
every  one  of  us.  If  we  had  believed  there  was  any  hope 
of  your  learning  to  love  Julia  as  she  deserves,  and  as  a 
man  ought  to  love  his  wife,  not  a  word  of  this  would  have 
been  spoken.  But  we  all  feel  there  is  no  such  hope. 
Only  say  there  is,  and  we  will  not  utter  another  word." 

"No,"  I  said,  "you  must  tell  me  all  now.  I  cannot  let 
the  question  rest  here.  Is  there  any  one  else  whom  Julia 
would  marry  if  she  felt  quite  free?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Johanna  while  Julia  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands,  "  she  would  marry  my  brother." 

Captain  Carey!  I  fairly  gasped  for  breath.  Such  an 
idea  had  never  once  occurred  to  me ;  though  I  knew  she 
had  been  spending  most  of  her  time  with  the  Careys  at 


296  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

the  Vale.  Captain  Carey  to  marry!  and  to  marry  Julia! 
To  go  and  live  in  our  house!  I  was  struck  dumb,  and 
fancied  that  I  had  heard  wrongly.  All  the  pleasant,  dis- 
tant vision  of  a  possible  marriage  with  Julia,  when  my 
passion  had  died  out,  and  I  could  be  content  in  my  affec- 
tion and  esteem  for  her — all  this  vanished  away,  and  left 
my  whole  future  a  blank.  If  Julia  wished  for  revenge — ■ 
and  when  is  not  revenge  sweet  to  a  jilted  woman? — she 
had  it  now.  I  was  as  crestfallen,  as  amazed,  almost  as 
miserable  as  she  had  been.  Yet  I  had  no  one  to  blame 
as  she  had.  How  could  I  blame  her  for  preferring  Cap- 
tain Carey's  love  to  my  rechauffi  affections? 

"Julia,"  I  said,  after  a  long  silence,  and  speaking  as 
calmly  as  I  could,  "do  you  love  Captain  Carey?  " 

"  That  is  not  a  fair  question  to  ask,"  answered  Johanna. 
"  We  have  not  been  treacherous  to  you.  I  scarcely  know 
how  it  has  all  come  about.  But  my  brother  has  never 
asked  Julia  if  she  loves  him ;  for  we  wished  to  see  you 
first,  and  hear  how  you  felt  about  Olivia.  You  say  you 
shall  never  love  again  as  you  love  her.  Set  Julia  free 
then,  quite  free,  to  accept  my  brother  or  reject  him.  Be 
generous,  be  yourself,  Martin." 

"  I  will,"  I  said ;  "  my  dear  Julia,  you  are  as  free  as  air 
from  all  obligation  to  me.  You  have  been  very  good  and 
very  true  to  me.  If  Captain  Carey  is  as  good  and  true 
to  you,  as  I  believe  he  will  be,  you  will  be  a  very  happy 
woman — happier  than  you  would  ever  be  with  me." 

"And  you  will  not  make  yourself  unhappy  about  it?  " 
asked  Julia,  looking  up. 

"  No,"  I  answered  cheerfully,  "  I  shall  be  a  merry  old 
bachelor,  and  visit  you  and  Captain  Carey,  when  we  are 
all  old  folks.  Never  mind  me,  Julia;  I  never  was  good 
enough  for  you.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  know  that  you 
are  happy." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


297 


Yet  when  I  found  myself  in  the  street,  for  I  made  my 
escape  as  soon  as  I  could  get  away  from  them,  I  felt  as 
if  everything  worth  living  for  were  slipping  away  from 
me.  My  mother  and  Olivia  were  gone,  and  here  was 
Julia  forsaking  me.  I  did  not  grudge  her  her  new  hap- 
piness. There  was  neither  jealousy  nor  envy  in  my  feelings 
toward  my  supplanter.  But  in  some  way  I  felt  that  I  had 
lost  a  great  deal  since  I  entered  their  drawing-room  two 
hours  ago. 


298  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Olivia's  husband. 

1DID  not  go  straight  home  to  our  dull,  gloomy  bachelor 
dwelling-place;  for  I  was  not  in  the  mood  for  an 
hour's  soliloquy.  Jack  and  I  had  undertaken  between  us 
the  charge  of  the  patients  belonging  to  a  friend  of  ours, 
who  had  been  called  out  of  town  for  a  few  days.  I  was 
passing  by  the  house,  chewing  the  bitter  cud  of  my  re- 
flections, and  recalling  this,  I  turned  in  to  see  if  any  mes- 
sages were  waiting  there  for  us.  Lowry's  footman  told 
me  a  person  had  been  with  an  urgent  request  that  he 
would  go  as  soon  as  possible  to  No.  19  Bellringer  Street. 
I  did  not  know  the  street,  or  what  sort  of  a  locality  it  was 
in. 

"What  kind  of  a  person  called?  "  I  asked. 

"A  woman,  sir;  not  a  lady.  On  foot — poorly  dressed. 
She's  been  here  before,  and  Dr.  Lowry  has  visited  the 
case  twice.  No.  19  Bellringer  Street.  Perhaps  you  will 
find  him  in  the  case-book,  sir." 

I  went  to  consult  the  case-book.  Half  a  dozen  words 
contained  the  diagnosis.  It  was  the  same  disease,  in  an 
incipient  form,  of  which  my  poor  mother  died.  I  resolved 
to  go  and  see  this  sufferer  at  once,  late  as  the  hour  was. 

"Did  the  person  expect  some  one  to  go  to-night?"  I 
asked,  as  I  passed  through  the  hall. 

"  I  couldn't  promise  her  that,  sir,"  was  the  answer.  "  I 
rl?d  say  I'd  send  on  the  message  to   yon,  and  I  was  just 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


299 


coming  with  it,  sir.  She  said  she'd  sit  up  till  twelve 
o'clock." 

"  Very  good,"  I  said. 

Upon  inquiry  I  found  that  the  place  was  two  miles 
away ;  and  as  our  old  friend  Simmons  was  still  on  the  cab- 
stand, I  jumped  into  his  cab,  and  bade  him  drive  me  as 
fast  as  he  could  to  No.  19  Bellringer  Street.  I  wanted  a 
sense  of  motion,  and  a  change  of  scene.  If  I  had  been 
in  Guernsey  I  should  have  mounted  Madam,  and  had  an- 
other midnight  ride  round  the  island.  This  was  a  poor 
substitute  for  that ;  but  the  visit  would  serve  to  turn  my 
thoughts  from  Julia.  If  any  one  in  London  could  do 
them  any  good,  I  believed  it  was  I ;  for  I  had  studied  that 
one  malady  with  my  soul  thrown  into  it. 

We  turned  at  last  into  a  shabby  street,  recognizable 
even  in  the  twilight  of  the  scattered  lamps  as  being  a  place 
for  cheap  lodging-houses.  There  was  a  light  burning  in 
the  second-floor  windows  of  No.  19;  but  all  the  rest  of  the 
front  was  in  darkness.  I  paid  Simmons  and  dismissed 
him,  saying  I  would  walk  home.  By  the  time  I  turned  to 
knock  at  the  door,  it  was  opened  quietly  from  within.  A 
woman  stood  in  the  doorway;  I  could  not  see  her  face, 
for  the  candle  she  had  brought  wirh  her  was  on  the  table 
behind  her;  neither  was  there  light  enough  for  her  to 
distinguish  mine. 

"Are  you  come  from  Dr.  Lowry's?"  she  asked. 

The  voice  sounded  a  familiar  one,  but  I  could  not  for 
the  life  of  me  recall  whose  it  was. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  but  I  do  not  know  the  name  of 
my  patient  here." 

"  Dr.  Martin  Dobree !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  an  accent 
almost  of  terror. 

I  recollected  her  then  as  the  person  who  had  been  in 
search  of  Olivia.     She  had  fallen  back  a  few  paces,  and 


3°° 


7 HE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


I  could  now  see  her  face.  It  was  startled  and  doubtful, 
as  if  she  hesitated  to  admit  me.  Was  it  possible  I  had 
come  to  attend  Olivia's  husband? 

"I  don't  know  whatever  to  do,"  she  ejaculated;  "he 
is  very  ill  to-night,  but  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  see  you — 
I  don't  think  he  would." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  said ;  "I  do  not  think  there  is  an- 
other man  in  London  as  well  qualified  to  do  him  good." 

"Why?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Because  I  have  made  this  disease  my  special  study," 
I  answered.  "  Mind,  I  am  not  anxious  to  attend  him.  I 
came  here  simply  because  my  friend  is  out  of  town.  If 
he  wishes  to  see  me  I  will  see  him,  and  do  my  best  for 
him.     It  rests  entirely  with  himself." 

"  Will  you  wait  here  a  few  minutes,"  she  asked,  "  while 
I  see  what  he  will  do?  " 

She  left  me  in  the  dimly-lighted  hall,  pervaded  by  a 
musty  smell  of  unventilated  rooms,  and  a  damp,  dirty  un- 
derground floor.  The  place  was  altogether  sordid,  and 
dingy,  and  miserable.  At  last  I  heard  her  step  coming 
down  the  two  flights  of  stairs,  and  I  went  to  meet  her. 

*  He  will  see  you,"  she  said,  eyeing  me  herself  with  a 
steady  gaze  of  curiosity. 

Her  curiosity  was  not  greater  than  mine.  I  was  anxious 
to  see  Olivia's  husband,  partly  from  the  intense  aversion 
I  felt  instinctively  toward  him.  He  was  lying  back  in  an 
old,  worn-out  easy-chair,  with  a  woman's  shawl  thrown 
across  his  shoulders,  for  the  night  was  chilly.  His  face 
had  the  first  sickly  hue  and  emaciation  of  the  disease, 
and  was  probably  refined  by  it.  It  was  a  handsome,  reg- 
ular, well-cut  face,  narrow  across  the  brows,  with  thin, 
firm  lips,  and  eyes  perfect  in  shape,  but  cold  and  glitter- 
ing as  steel.  I  knew  afterward  that  he  was  fifteen  years 
older  than  Olivia.     Across  his  knees  lay  a  shaggy,  starved- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  301 

looking  cat,  which  he  held  fast  by  the  fore-paws,  and  from 
time  to  time  entertained  himself  by  teazing  and  torment- 
ing it.     He  scrutinized  me  as  keenly  as  I  did  him. 

"  I  believe  we  are  in  some  sort  connected,  Dr.  Martin 
Dobree,"  he  said,  smiling  coldly;  "my  half-sister,  Kate 
Daltrey,  is  married  to  your  father,  Dr.  Dobree." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  shortly.  The  subject  was  eminently 
disagreeable  to  me,  and  I  had  no  wish  to  pursue  it  with 
him. 

"Ay!  she  will  make  him  a  happy  man,"'  he  continued 
mockingly;  "you  are  not  yourself  married,  I  believe,  Dr. 
Martin  Dobree?  " 

I  took  no  notice  whatever  of  his  question,  or  the  pre- 
ceding remark,  but  passed  on  to  formal  inquiries  concern- 
ing his  health.  My  close  study  of  his  malady  helped  me 
here.  I  could  assist  him  to  describe  and  localize  his 
symptoms,  and  I  soon  discovered  that  the  disease  was  as 
yet  in  a  very  early  stage. 

"  You  have  a  better  grip  of  it  than  Lowry,"  he  said,  sigh- 
ing with  satisfaction.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  made  of  glass, 
and  you  could  look  through  me.     Can  you  cure  me?" 

"  I  will  do  my  best,''  I  answered. 

"  So  you  all  say,V/  he  muttered,  "  and  the  best  is  generally 
good  for  nothing.  You  see  I  care  less  about  getting  over 
it  than  my  wife  does.  She  is  very  anxious  for  my  re- 
covery." 

"Your  wife!"  I  repeated  in  utter  surprise;  "you  are 
Richard  Foster,  I  believe?" 

"Certainly,"  he  replied. 

"Does  your  wife  know  of  your  present  illness?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  answered ;  "  let  me  introduce  you  to 
Mrs.  Richard  «Foster." 

The  woman   looked   at   me   with   flashing   eyes   and  a 


3o2  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

mocking  smile,  while  Mr.  Foster  indulged  himself  with 
extorting  a  long  and  plaintive  mew  from  the  poor  cat  on 
his  knees. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  I  said.  I  did  not  know  how  to 
continue  my  speech.  Though  they  might  choose  to  pass 
as  husband  and  wife  among  strangers,  they  could  hardly 
expect  to  impose  upon  me. 

"Ah!  I  see  you  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Foster,  with  a  visible 
sneer.     "  Olivia  is  dead." 

"Olivia  dead!  "  I  exclaimed. 

I  repeated  the  words  mechanically,  as  if  I  could  not 
make  any  meaning  out  of  them.  Yet  they  had  been 
spoken  with  such  perfect  deliberation  and  certainty  that 
there  seemed  to  be  no  question  about  the  fact.  Mr. 
Foster's  glittering  eyes  dwelt  delightedly  upon  my  face. 

"  You  were  not  aware  of  it  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  am  afraid  I 
have  been  too  sudden.  Kate  tells  us  you  were  in  love 
with  my  first  wife,  and  sacrificed  a  most  eligible  match  for 
her.  Would  it  be  too  late  to  open  fresh  negotiations  with 
your  cousin?     You  see  I  know  all  your  family  history." 

"  When  did  Olivia  die?  "  I  inquired,  though  my  tongue 
felt  dry  and  parched,  and  the  room,  with  his  fiendish  face, 
was  swimming  giddily  before  my  eyes. 

"  When  was  it,  Carry  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  his  wife. 

"  We  heard  she  was  dead  on  the  first  of  October,"  she 
answered.     "  You  married  me  the  next  day." 

"Ah,  yes!  "  he  said;  "Olivia  had  been  dead  to  me  for 
more  than  twelve  months,  and  the  moment  I  was  free  I 
married  her,  Dr.  Martin.  We  could  not  be  married  be- 
fore, and  there  was  no  reason  to  wait  longer.  It  was 
quite  legal." 

"  But  what  proof  have  you  ?  "  I  asked,  still  incredulous, 
yet  with  a  heart  so  heavy  that  it  could  hardly  rouse  itself 
to  hope. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  303 

"  Carry,  you  have  those  letters,"  said  Richard  Foster. 

She  was  away  for  a  few  minutes,  while  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  regarding  me  with  his  half -closed  cruel  eyes. 
I  said  nothing;  and  resolved  to  betray  no  emotion.  Olivia 
dead!  my  Olivia!     I  could  not  believe  it. 

"  Here  are  the  proofs,"  said  Mrs.  Foster,  re-entering  the 
room.  She  put  into  my  hand  an  ordinary  certificate  of 
death,  signed  by  J.  Jones,  M.D.  It  stated  that  the  de- 
ceased, Olivia  Foster,  had  died  on  September  the  27th,  of 
acute  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  Accompanying  this  was 
a  letter  written  in  a  good  handwriting,  purporting  to  be 
from  a  clergyman  or  minister,  of  what  denomination  it 
was  not  stated,  who  had  attended  Olivia  in  her  fatal  ill- 
ness. He  said  that  she  had  desired  him  to  keep  the  place 
of  her  death  and  burial  a  secret,  and  to  forward  no  more 
than  the  official  certificate  of  the  former  event.  This  let- 
ter was  signed  E.  Jones.  No  clue  was  given  by  either 
document  as  to  the  place  where  they  were  written. 

"Are  you  not  satisfied?"  asked  Foster. 

"No,"  I  replied;  "how  is  it,  if  Olivia  is  dead,  that  you 
have  not  taken  possession  of  her  property?  " 

"A  shrewd  question,"  he  said  jeeringly.  "Why  am  I 
in  these  cursed  poor  lodgings?  Why  am  I  as  poor  as 
Job,  when  there  are  twenty  thousand  pounds  of  my  wife's 
estate  lying  unclaimed?  My  sweet,  angelic  Olivia  left  no 
will,  or  none  in  my  favor,  you  may  be  sure ;  and  by  her 
father's  will,  if  she  dies  intestate  or  without  children,  his 
property  goes  to  build  almhouses,  or  some  confounded 
nonsense,  in  Melbourne.  All  she  bequeaths  to  me  is  this 
ring,  which  I  gave  to  her  on  our  wedding-day,  curse  her!  " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  on  the  little  finger  of  which 
shone  a  diamond,  which  might,  as  far  as  I  knew,  be  the 
one  I  had  once  seen  in  Olivia's  possession. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  was 


304  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

on  this  very  point,  the  making  of  her  will,  or  securing  her 
property  to  me  in  some  way,  that  my  wife  took  offence 
and  ran  away  from  me.  Carry  was  just  a  little  too  hard 
upon  her,  and  I  was  away  in  Paris.  But  consider,  I  ex- 
pected to  be  left  penniless,  just  as  you  see  me  left,  and 
Carry  was  determined  to  prevent  it." 

"  Then  you  are  sure  of  her  death?  "  I  said. 

"  So  sure,"  he  replied  calmly,  "  that  we  were  married 
the  next  day.  Olivia's  letter  to  me,  as  well  as  those 
papers,  was  conclusive  of  her  identity.  Will  you  like  to 
see  it?  " 

Mrs.  Foster  gave  me  a  slip  of  paper,  on  which  were 
written  a  few  lines.  The  words  looked  faint,  and  grew 
paler  as  I  read  them.  They  were  without  doubt  Olivia's 
writing. 

"I  know  that  you  are  poor,  and  I  send  you  all  I  can 
spare — the  ring  you  once  gave  to  me.  I  am  even  poorer 
than  yourself,  but  I  have  just  enough  for  my  last  neces- 
sities.    I  forgive  you  as  I  trust  that  God  forgives  me." 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said  or  done.  Conviction  had 
been  brought  home  to  me.  I  rose  to  take  my  leave,  and 
Foster  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  perhaps  with  a  kindly  in- 
tention. Olivia's  ring  was  glittering  on  it,  and  I  could  not 
take  it  into  mine. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "I  understand;  I  am  sorry  for 
you.  Come  again,  Dr.  Martin  Dobree.  If  you  know  of 
any  remedy  for  my  case,  you  are  no  true  man  if  you  do 
not  try  it." 

I  went  down  the  narrow  staircase,  closely  followed  by 
Mrs.  Foster.  Her  face  had  lost  its  gayety  and  boldness, 
and  looked  womanly  and  careworn,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  my  arm  before  opening  the  house-door. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  305 

"  For  God's  sake  come  again,"  she  said,  "  if  you  can  do 
anything  for  him.  We  have  money  left  yet,  and  I  am 
earning  more  every  day.  We  can  pay  you  well.  Promise 
me  you  will  come  again." 

"  I  can  promise  nothing  to-night,"  I  answered. 

"  You  shall  not  go  till  you  promise,"  she  said  empha- 
tically. 

"  Well,  then,  I  promise,"  I  answered,  and  she  unfastened 
the  chain  almost  noiselessly,  and  opened  the  door  into  the 
street. 

20 


306  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 


SAD    NEWS. 


A  FINE  drizzling  rain  was  falling;  I  was  just  conscious 
of  it  as  an  element  of  discomfort,  but  it  did  not 
make  me  quicken  my  steps.  I  wanted  no  rapidity  of 
motion  now.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  nothing  to 
look  forward  to,  nothing  to  flee  away  from.  Olivia  was 
dead! 

I  had  said  the  same  thing  again  and  again  to  myself, 
that  Olivia  was  dead  to  me ;  but  at  this  moment  I  learned 
how  great  a  difference  there  was  between  the  words  as  a 
figure  of  speech  and  as  a  terrible  reality.  I  could  no 
longer  think  of  her  as  treading  the  same  earth — the  same 
streets  perhaps;  speaking  the  same  language;  seeing  the 
same  daylight  as  myself.  I  recalled  her  image,  as  I  had 
seen  her  last  in  Sark ;  and  then  I  tried  to  picture  her  white 
face,  with  lips  and  eyes  closed  forever,  and  the  awful  chill 
of  death  resting  upon  her.  It  seemed  impossible ;  yet  the 
cuckoo-cry  went  on  in  my  brain,  "  Olivia  is  dead — is 
dead!  "  I  reached  home  just  as  Jack  was  coming  in  from 
his  evening  amusement.  He  let  me  in  with  his  latch-key, 
giving  me  a  cheery  greeting;  but  as  soon  as  we  had 
entered  the  dining-room,  and  he  saw  my  face,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Good  heavens!   Martin,  what  has  happened  to  you?  " 

"  Olivia  is  dead,"  I  answered. 

His  arm  was  about  my  neck  in  a  moment,  for  we  were 
like  boys  together  still,  when  we  were  alone.     He  knew 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  307 

all  about  Olivia,  and  he  waited  patiently  till  I  could  put 
my  tidings  into  words. 

"It  must  be  true,"  he  said,  though  in  a  doubtful  tone; 
"  the  scoundrel  would  not  have  married  again  if  he  had 
not  sufficient  proof." 

"She  must  have  died  very  soon  after  my  mother,"  I 
answered,  "  and  I  never  knew  it." 

"  It's  strange !  "  he  said.  "  I  wonder  she  never  got  any- 
body to  write  to  you  or  Tardif." 

There  was  no  way  of  accounting  for  that  strange  silence 
toward  us.  We  sat  talking  in  short,  broken  sentences, 
while  Jack  smoked  a  cigar;  but  we  could  come  to  no 
conclusion  about  it.  It  was  late  when  we  parted,  and  I 
went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep. 

For  as  soon  as  the  room  was  quite  dark,  visions  of 
Olivia  haunted  me.  Phantasms  of  her  followed  one  an- 
other rapidly  through  my  brain.  She  had  died,  so  said 
the  certificate,  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  after  an  illness 
of  ten  days.  I  felt  myself  bound  to  go  through  every  stage 
of  her  illness,  dwelling  upon  all  her  sufferings,  and  think- 
ing of  her  as  under  careless  or  unskilled  attendance,  with 
no  friend  at  hand  to  take  care  of  her.  She  ought  not  to 
have  died,  with  her  perfect  constitution.  If  I  had  been 
there  she  should  not  have  died 

About  four  o'clock,  Jack  tapped  softly  upon  the  wall 
between  our  bedrooms — it  was  a  signal  we  had  used  when 
we  were  boys — as  though  to  inquire  if  I  was  all  right ;  but 
it  was  quiet  enough  not  to  wake  me  if  I  were  asleep.  It 
seemed  like  the  friendly  "  Ahoy  "  from  a  boat  floating  on 
the  same  dark  sea.  Jack  was  lying  awake,  thinking  of  me 
as  I  was  thinking  of  Olivia.  There  was  something  so 
consolatory  in  this  sympathy  that  I  fell  asleep  while 
dwelling  upon  it. 

Upon  going   down-stairs   in   the   morning  I  found  that 


3o8 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


Jack  was  already  off,  having  left  a  short  note  for  me,  say- 
ing he  would  visit  my  patients  that  day.  I  had  scarcely 
begun  breakfast  when  the  servant  announced  "  a  lady," 
and  as  the  lady  followed  close  upon  his  heels,  I  saw  be- 
hind his  shoulder  the  familiar  face  of  Johanna,  looking 
extremely  grave.  She  was  soon  seated  beside  me,  watch- 
ing me  with  something  of  the  tender,  wistful  gaze  of  my 
mother.  Her  eyes  were  of  the  same  shape  and  color,  and 
I  could  hardly  command  myself  to  speak  calmly. 

"  Your  friend,  Dr.  John  Senior,  called  upon  us  a  short 
time  since,"  she  said,  "and  told  us  this  sad,  sad  news." 

I  nodded  silently. 

"  If  we  had  only  known  it  yesterday,"  she  continued, 
"you  would  never  have  heard  what  we  then  said.  This 
makes  so  vast  a  difference.  Julia  could  not  have  become 
your  wife  while  there  was  another  woman  living  whom 
you  loved  more.     You  understand  her  feeling?  " 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "Julia  is  right." 

"  My  brother  and  I  have  been  talking  about  the  change 
this  will  make,"  she  resumed.  "  He  would  not  rob  you 
of  any  consolation  or  of  any  future  happiness;  not  for 
worlds.  He  relinquishes  all  claim  to  or  hope  of  Julia's 
affection " 

"  That  would  be  unjust  to  Julia,"  I  interrupted.  "  She 
must  not  be  sacrificed  to  me  any  longer.  I  do  not  sup- 
pose I  shall  ever  marry " 

"  You  must  marry,  Martin,"  she  interrupted  in  her  turn, 
and  speaking  emphatically;  "you  are  altogether  unfitted 
for  a  bachelors  life.  It  is  all  very  well  for  Dr.  John 
Senior,  who  has  never  known  a  woman's  companionship, 
and  who  can  do  without  it.  But  it  is  misery  to  you — this 
cold,  colorless  life.  No.  Of  all  the  men  I  ever  knew, 
you  are  the  least  fitted  for  a  single  life." 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  I  admitted,  as  I  recalled  my  longing 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  309 

for  some  sign  of  womanhood  about  our  bachelor  dwell- 
ing. 

"  I  am  certain  of  it,"  she  said.  "  Now,  but  for  our  pre- 
cipitation last  night,  you  would  have  gone  naturally  to 
Julia  for  comfort.  So  my  brother  sends  word  that  he  is 
going  back  to  Guernsey  to-night,  leaving  us  in  Hanover 
Street,  where  we  are  close  to  you.  We  have  said  nothing 
to  Julia  yet.  She  is  crying  over  this  sad  news — mourning 
for  your  sorrow.  You  know  that  my  brother  has  not 
spoken  directly  to  Julia  of  his  love ;  and  now  all  that  is 
in  the  past,  and  is  to  be  as  if  it  had  never  been,  and  we 
go  on  exactly  as  if  we  had  not  had  that  conversation  yes- 
terday." 

"  But  that  cannot  be,"  I  remonstrated.  "  I  cannot  con- 
sent to  Julia  wasting  her  love  and  time  upon  me.  I  as- 
sure you  most  solemnly  I  shall  never  marry  my  cousin 
now." 

"  You  love  her,"  said  Johanna. 

"  Certainly,"  I  answered,  "  as  my  sister." 

"  Better  than  any  woman  now  living?  "  she  pursued. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"That  is  all  Julia  requires,"  she  continued;  "so  let  us 
say  no  more  at  present,  Martin.  Only  understand  that  all 
idea  of  marriage  between  her  and  my  brother  is  quite  put 
away.  Don't  argue  with  me,  don't  contradict  me.  Come 
to  see  us  as  you  would  have  done  but  for  that  unfortunate 
conversation  last  night.     All  will  come  right  by-and-by." 

"But  Captain  Carey ,"  I  began. 

"There!  not  a  word!"  she  interrupted  imperatively. 
"  Tell  me  all  about  that  wretch,  Richard  Foster.  How 
did  you  come  across  him?  Is  he  likely  to  die?  Is  he 
anything  like  Kate  Daltrey? — I  will  never  call  her  Kate 
Dobree  as  long  as  the  world  lasts.  Come,  Martin,  tell  me 
everything  about  him." 


3io 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


She  sat  with  me  most  of  the  morning,  talking  with  ani- 
mated perseverance,  and  at  last  prevailed  upon  me  to  take 
her  for  a  walk  in  Hyde  Park.  Her  pertinacity  did  me  good 
in  spite  of  the  irritation  it  caused  me.  When  her  dinner- 
hour  was  at  hand  I  felt  bound  to  attend  her  to  her  house 
in  Hanover  Street ;  and  I  could  not  get  away  from  her 
without  first  speaking  to  Julia.  Her  face  was  very  sor- 
rowful, and  her  manner  sympathetic.  We  said  only  a  few 
words  to  one  another,  but  I  went  away  with  the  impres- 
sion that  her  heart  was  still  with  me. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  311 


CHAPTER   XL. 

A    TORMENTING    DOUBT. 

AT  dinner  Jack  announced  his  intention  of  paying  a 
visit  to  Richard  Foster. 

"You  are  not  fit  to  deal  with  the  fellow,"  he  said; 
"you  may  be  sharp  enough  upon  your  own  black  sheep 
in  Guernsey,  but  you  know  nothing  of  the  breed  here. 
Now  if  I  see  him  I  will  squeeze  out  of  him  every  mortal 
thing  he  knows  about  Olivia.  Where  did  those  papers 
come  from?  " 

"  There  was  no  place  given,"  I  answered. 

"  But  there  would  be  a  post-mark  on  the  envelope,"  he 
replied ;  "  I  will  make  him  show  me  the  envelope  they 
were  in." 

"Jack."  I  said,  "you  do  not  suppose  he  has  any  doubt 
of  her  death?" 

"  I  can't  say,"  he  answered.  "  You  see  he  has  married 
again,  and  if  she  were  not  dead  that  would  be  bigamy — 
an  ugly  sort  of  crime.  But  are  you  sure  they  are  mar- 
ried?" 

"How  can  I  be  sure?"  I  asked  fretfully,  for  grief  as 
often  makes  men  fretful  as  illness.  "  I  did  not  ask  for 
their  marriage  certificate." 

"Well,  well!   I  will  go,"  he  answered. 

I  awaited  his  return  with  impatience.  With  this  doubt 
insinuated  by  Jack  it  began  to  seem  almost  incredible 
that  Olivia's  exquisitely  healthy  frame  should  have  suc- 
cumbed suddenly  under  a  malady  to  which  she  had  no 


312 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


predisposition  whatever.  Moreover,  her  original  sound- 
ness of  constitution  had  been  strengthened  by  ten  months' 
residence  in  the  pure,  bracing  air  of  Sark.  Yet  what  was 
I  to  think  in  face  of  those  undated  documents,  and  of  her 
own  short  letter  to  her  husband?  The  one  I  knew  was 
genuine;  why  should  I  suppose  the  others  to  be  forged? 
And  if  forgeries,  who  had  been  guilty  of  such  a  cruel  and 
crafty  artifice,  and  for  what  purpose? 

I  had  not  found  any  satisfactory  answer  to  these  que- 
ries before  Jack  returned,  his  face  kindled  with  excitement. 
He  caught  my  hand,  and  grasped  it  heartily. 

"  I  no  more  believe  she  is  dead  than  I  am,"  were  his 
first  words.  "  You  recollect  me  telling  you  of  a  drunken 
brawl  in  a  street  off  the  Strand,  where  a  fellow,  as  drunk 
as  a  lord,  was  for  claiming  a  pretty  girl  as  his  wife ;  only 
I  had  followed  her  out  of  Ridley's  agency  office,  and  was 
just  in  time  to  protect  her  from  him.  A  girl  I  could  have 
fallen  in  love  with  myself.     You  recollect?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  said,  almost  breathless. 

"  He  was  the  man,  and  Olivia  was  the  girl!  "  exclaimed 
Jack. 

"No!"  I  cried. 

"Yes!"  continued  Jack,  with  an  affectionate  lunge  at 
me ;  "  at  any  rate  I  can  swear  he  is  the  man ;  and  I  would 
bet  a  thousand  to  one  that  the  girl  was  Olivia." 

"  But  when  was  it?  "  I  asked. 

"Since  he  married  again,"  he  answered;  "they  were 
married  on  the  2d  of  October,  and  this  was  early  in  No- 
vember. I  had  gone  to  Ridley's  after  a  place  for  a  poor 
fellow  as  an  assistant  to  a  druggist ;  and  I  saw  the  girl 
distinctly.  She  gave  the  name  of  Ellen  Martineau.  Those 
letters  about  her  death  are  all  forgeries." 

"Olivia's  is  not,"  I  said;  "I  know  her  handwriting  too 
well." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  313 

"  Well,  then,"  observed  Jack,  "  there  is  only  one  expla- 
nation. She  has  sent  them  herself  to  throw  Foster  off  the 
scent;  she  thinks  she  will  be  safe  if  he  believes  her  dead." 

"No,"  I  answered  hotly,  "she  would  never  have  done 
such  a  thing  as  that." 

"  Who  else  is  benefited  by  it?  "  he  asked  gravely.  "  It 
does  not  put  Foster  into  possession  of  any  of  her  property; 
or  that  would  have  been  a  motive  for  him  to  do  it.  But 
he  gains  nothing  by  it;  and  he  is  so  convinced  of  her 
death  that  he  has  married  a  second  wife." 

It  was  difficult  to  hit  upon  any  other  explanation ;  yet 
I  could  not  credit  this  one.  I  felt  firmly  convinced  that 
Olivia  could  not  be  guilty  of  an  artifice  so  cunning.  I 
was  deceived  in  her  indeed  if  she  would  descend  to  any 
fraud  so  cruel.  But  I  could  not  discuss  the  question  even 
with  Jack  Senior.  Tardif  was  the  only  person  who  knew 
Olivia  well  enough  to  make  his  opinion  of  any  value. 
Besides  my  mind  was  not  as  clear  as  Jack's  that  she  was 
the  girl  he  had  seen  in  November.  Yet  the  doubt  of  her 
death  was  full  of  hope ;  it  made  the  earth  more  habitable, 
and  life  more  endurable. 

"What  can  I  do  now?"  I  said,  speaking  aloud,  though 
I  was  thinking  to  myself. 

"Martin,"  he  replied  gravely,  "isn't  it  wisest  to  leave 
the  matter  as  it  stands?  If  you  find  Olivia,  what  then? 
She  is  as  much  separated  from  you  as  she  can  be  by  death. 
So  long  as  Foster  lives  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  be  think- 
ing of  her.  There  is  no  misery  like  that  of  hanging  about 
a  woman  you  have  no  right  to  love." 

"  I  only  wish  to  satisfy  myself  that  she  is  alive,"  I  an- 
swered. "  Just  think  of  it,  Jack,  not  to  know  whether  she 
is  living  or  dead !  You  must  help  me  to  satisfy  myself. 
Foster  has  got  the  only  valuable  thing  she  had  in  her  pos- 
session, and  if  she  is  living  she  may  be  in  absolute  want. 


314  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  cannot  be  contented  with  that  dread  on  my  mind.  There 
can  be  no  harm  in  my  taking  some  care  of  her  at  a  dis- 
tance.    This  mystery  would  be 'intolerable  to  me." 

"You're  right,  old  fellow,"  he  said  cordially;  "we  will 
go  to  Ridley's  together  to-morrow  morning." 

We  were  there  soon  after  the  doors  were  open.  There 
were  not  many  clients  present,  and  the  clerks  were  enjoy- 
ing a  slack  time.  Jack  had  recalled  to  his  mind  the  ex- 
act date  of  his  former  visit ;  and  thus  the  sole  difficulty 
was  overcome.  The  clerk  found  the  name  of  Ellen  Mar- 
tineau  entered  under  that  date  in  his  book. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Ellen  Martineau,  English  teacher 
in  a  French  school;  premium  to  be  paid,  about  ^"io;  no 
salary;  reference,  Mrs.  Wilkinson,  No.  19  Bellringer 
Street." 

"  No.  19  Bellringer  Street!  "  we  repeated  in  one  breath. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  that  is  the  address,"  said  the  clerk, 
closing  the  book.  "  Shall  I  write  it  down  for  you?  Mrs. 
Wilkinson  was  the  party  who  should  have  paid  our  com- 
mission; as  you  perceive,  a  premium  was  required  instead 
of  a  salary  given.  We  feel  pretty  sure  the  young  lady 
went  to  the  school,  but  Mrs.  Wilkinson  denies  it,  and  it 
is  not  worth  our  while  to  pursue  our  claim  in  law." 

"Can  you  describe  the  young  lady?  "   I  inquired. 

"  Well,  no.  We  have  such  hosts  of  young  ladies  here. 
But  she  was  pretty,  decidedly  pretty;  she  made  that  im- 
pression upon  me,  at  least.  We  are  too  busy  to  take 
particular  notice;  but  I  should  know  her  again  if  she 
came  in.  I  think  she  would  have  been  here  again  before 
this,  if  she  had  not  got  that  engagement." 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  school  is?  "   I  asked. 

"  No.  Mrs.  Wilkinson  was  the  party,"  he  said.  "  We 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  except  send  any  ladies  to  her 
who  thought  it  worth  their  while.     That  was  all." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


3*5 


As  we  could  obtain  no  further  information  we  went 
away,  and  paced  up  and  down  the  tolerably  quiet  street, 
deep  in  consultation.  That  we  should  have  need  for 
great  caution,  and  as  much  craftiness  as  we  both  pos- 
sessed, in  pursuing  our  inquiries  at  No.  19  Bellringer 
1  Street,  was  quite  evident.  Who  could  be  this  unknown 
Mrs.  Wilkinson?  Was  it  possible  that  she  might  prove 
to  be  Mrs.  Foster  herself?  At  any  rate  it  would  not  do 
for  either  of  us  to  present  ourselves  there  in  quest  of  Miss 
Ellen  Martineau.  It  was  finally  settled  between  us  that 
Johanna  should  be  intrusted  with  the  diplomatic  enter- 
prise. There  was  not  much  chance  that  Mrs.  Foster 
would  know  her  by  sight,  though  she  had  been  in  Guern- 
sey; and  it  would  excite  less  notice  for  a  lady  to  be  in- 
quiring after  Olivia.  We  immediately  turned  our  steps 
toward  Hanover  Street,  where  we  found  her  and  Julia 
seated  at  some  fancy  work  in  their  sombre  drawing-room. 

Julia  received  me  with  a  little  embarrassment,  but  con- 
quered it  sufficiently  to  give  me  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand,  and  to  whisper  in  my  ear  that  Johanna  had  told 
her  everything.  Unluckily  Johanna  herself  knew  nothing 
of  our  discovery  the  night  before.  I  kept  Julia's  hand  in 
mine,  and  looked  steadily  into  her  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Julia,"  I  said,  "we  bring  strange  news.  We 
have  reason  to  believe  that  Olivia  is  not  dead,  but  that 
something  underhand  is  going  on,  which  we  cannot  yet 
make  out." 

Julia's  face  grew  crimson,  but  I  would  not  let  her  draw 
away  her  hand  from  my  clasp.  I  held  it  the  more  firmly ; 
and  as  Jack  was  busy  talking  to  Johanna,  I  continued 
speaking  to  her  in  a  lowered  tone. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  "you  have  been  as  true  and  faithful, 
and  generous  a  friend  as  any  man  ever  had.  But  this  must 
not  go  on,  for  your  own  sake.     You  fancied  you  loved 


316  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

me,  because  every  one  about  us  wished  it  to  be  so ;  but  I 
cannot  let  you  waste  your  life  on  me.  Speak  to  me  ex- 
actly as  your  brother.  Do  you  believe  you  could  be  really 
happy  with  Captain  Carey?" 

"Arthur  is  so  good,"  she  murmured,  "  and  he  is  so  fond 
of  me." 

I  had  never  heard  her  call  him  Arthur  before.  The 
elder  members  of  our  Guernsey  circle  called  him  by  his 
Christian  name,  but  to  us  younger  ones  he  had  always 
been  Captain  Carey.  Julia's  use  of  it  was  more  eloquent 
than  many  phrases.  She  had  grown  into  the  habit  of  call- 
ing him  familiarly  by  it. 

"  Then,  Julia,"  I  said,  "  what  folly  it  would  be  for  you 
to  sacrifice  yourself  to  a  false  notion  of  faithfulness!  I 
could  not  accept  such  a  sacrifice.  Think  no  more  of  me 
or  my  happiness." 

"  But  my  poor  aunt  was  so  anxious  for  you  to  have  a 
home  of  your  own,"  she  said,  sobbing,  "  and  I  do  love  you 
dearly.  Now  you  will  never  marry.  I  know  you  will  not, 
if  you  can  have  neither  Olivia  nor  me  for  your  wife." 

"  Very  likely,"  I  answered,  trying  to  laugh  away  her 
agitation ;  "  I  shall  be  in  love  with  two  married  women  in- 
stead. How  shocking  that  will  sound  in  Guernsey!  But 
I'm  not  afraid  that  Captain  Carey  will  forbid  me  his 
house." 

"  How  little  we  thought ! "  exclaimed  Julia.  I  knew 
very  well  what  her  mind  had  gone  back  to — the  days  when 
she  and  I  and  my  mother  were  furnishing  and  settling  the 
house  that  would  now  become  Captain  Carey's  home. 

"Then  it  is  all  settled,"  I  said,  "and  I  shall  write  to 
him  by  to-night's  post,  inviting  him  back  again — that  is, 
if  he  really  left  you  last  night." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied ;  "  he  would  not  stay  a  day  longer." 

Her  face  had  grown  calm  as  we  talked  together.     A 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  317 

scarcely  perceptible  smile  was  lurking  about  her  lips,  as 
if  she  rejoiced  that  her  suspense  was  over.  There  was 
something  very  like  a  pang  in  the  idea  of  some  one  else 
filling  the  place  I  had  once  fully  occupied  in  her  heart; 
but  the  pain  was  unworthy  of  me.  I  drove  it  away  by 
throwing  myself  heart  and  soul  into  the  mystery  which 
hung  over  the  fate  of  Olivia. 

"  We  have  hit  upon  a  splendid  plan,"  said  Jack:  "  Miss 
Carey  will  take  Simmons'  cab  to  Bellringer  Street,  and 
reach  the  house  about  the  same  time  as  I  visit  Foster. 
That  is  for  me  to  be  at  hand  if  she  should  need  any  pro- 
tection, you  know.  I  shall  stay  up-stairs  with  Foster  till 
I  hear  the  cab  drive  off  again,  and  it  will  wait  for  me  at 
the  corner  of  Dawson  Street.  Then  we  will  come  direct 
here,  and  tell  you  everything  at  once.  Of  course  Miss 
Dobree  will  wish  to  hear  it  all." 

"Cannot  I  go  with  Johanna?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  I  said  hastily ;  "  it  is  very  probable  Mrs.  Foster 
knows  you  by  sight,  though  she  is  less  likely  to  know 
Johanna.  I  fancy  Mrs.  Wilkinson  will  turn  out  to  be  Mrs. 
Foster  herself.  Yet  why  they  should  spirit  Olivia  away 
into  a  French  school,  and  pretend  that  she  is  dead,  I  can- 
not see." 

Nor  could  any  one  of  the  others  see  the  reason.  But 
as  the  morning  was  fast  waning  away,  and  both  Jack  and 
I  were  busy,  we  were  compelled  to  close  the  discussion, 
and,  with  our  minds  preoccupied  to  a  frightful  extent, 
make  those  calls  upon  our  patients,  which  were  supposed 
to  be  in  each  case  full  of  anxious  and  particular  thought 
for  the  ailments  we  were  attempting  to  alleviate. 

Upon  meeting  again  for  a  few  minutes  at  luncheon,  we 
made  a  slight  change  in  our  plan ;  for  we  found  a  note 
from  Foster  awaiting  me,  in  which  he  requested  me  to 
visit  him  in  the  future,  instead  of  Dr.  John  Senior,  as  he 
felt  more  confidence  in  my  knowledge  of  his  malady. 


3i8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    XLL 

MARTIN    DOBREE'S    PLEDGE. 

1  FOLLOWED  Simmons's  cab  up  Bellringer  Street,  and 
watched  Johanna  alight  and  enter  the  house.  The 
door  was  scarcely  closed  upon  her  when  I  rang,  and  asked 
the  slatternly  drudge  of  a  servant  if  I  could  see  Mr.  Fos- 
ter. She  asked  me  to  go  up  to  the  parlor  on  the  second 
floor,  and  I  went  alone,  with  little  expectation  of  finding 
Mrs.  Foster  there,  unless  Johanna  was  there  also,  in  which 
case  I  was  to  appear  as  a  stranger  to  her. 

The  parlor  looked  poorer  and  shabbier  by  daylight  than 
at  night.  There  was  not  a  single  element  of  comfort  in 
it.  The  curtains  hung  in  rags  about  a  window  begrimed 
with  soot  and  smoke.  The  only  easy-chair  was  the  one 
occupied  by  Foster,  who  himself  looked  as  shabby  and 
worn  as  the  room.  The  cuffs  and  collar  of  his  shirt  were 
yellow  and  tattered;  his  hair  hung  long  and  lank;  and 
his  skin  had  a  sallow,  unwholesome  tint.  The  diamond 
ring  upon  his  finger  was  altogether  out  of  keeping  with 
his  thread-bare  coat,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  as  if  there 
were  no  waistcoat  beneath  it.  From  head  to  foot  he 
looked  a  broken-down,  seedy  fellow,  yet  still  preserving 
some  lingering  traces  of  the  gentleman.  This  was  Olivia's 
husband! 

A  good  deal  to  my  surprise  I  saw  Mrs.  Foster  seated 
quietly  at  a  table  drawn  close  to  the  window,  very  busily 
writing — engrossing,  as   I  could  see,  for  some  miserable 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


319 


pittance  a  page.  She  must  have  had  some  considerable 
practice  in  the  work,  for  it  was  done  well,  and  her  pen 
ran  quickly  over  the  paper.  A  second  chair  left  empty 
opposite  to  her  showed  that  Foster  had  been  engaged 
at  the  same  task,  before  he  heard  my  step  on  the  stairs. 
He  looked  weary,  and  I  could  not  help  feeling  something 
akin  to  pity  for  him.  I  did  not  know  that  they  had  come 
down  as  low  as  that. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to  come  before  night,"  he  said 
testily,  "  I  like  to  have  some  idea  when  my  medical  at- 
tendant is  coming." 

"  I  was  obliged  to  come  now,"  I  answered,  offering  no 
other  apology.  The  man  irritated  me  more  than  any 
other  person  that  had  ever  come  across  me.  There  was 
something  perverse  and  splenetic  in  every  word  he  uttered, 
and  every  expression  upon  his  face. 

"  I  do  not  like  your  partner,"  he  said ;  "  don't  send  him 
again.     He  knows  nothing  about  his  business." 

He  spoke  with  all  the  haughtiness  of  a  millionaire  to  a 
country  practitioner.  I  could  hardly  refrain  from  smiling 
as  I  thought  of  Jack's  disgust  and  indignation. 

"As  for  that,"  I  replied,  "  most  probably  neither  of  us 
will  visit  you  again.  Dr.  Lowry  will  return  to-morrow, 
and  you  will  be  in  his  hands  once  more." 

"  No !  "  he  cried,  with  passionate  urgency  in  his  tone — 
"  no,  Martin  Dobree ;  you  said  if  any  man  in  London  could 
cure  me,  it  was  yourself.  I  cannot  leave  myself  in  any 
other  hands.  I  demand  the  fulfilment  of  your  words.  If 
what  you  said  is  true,  you  can  no  more  leave  me  to  the 
care  of  another  physician,  than  you  could  leave  a  fellow- 
creature  to  drown  without  doing  your  utmost  to  save  him. 
I  refuse  to  be  given  up  to  Dr.  Lowry." 

"  But  it  is  by  no  means  a  parallel  case,"  I  argued ;  "  you 
were  under  his  treatment  before,  and  I  have  no  reason 


320 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


whatever  to  doubt  his  skill.  Why  should  you  feel  safer 
in  my  hands  than  in  his?  " 

"  Well !  "  he  said,  with  a  sneer,  "  if  Olivia  were  alive  I 
dare  scarcely  have  trusted  you,  could  I?  But  you  have 
nothing  to  gain  by  my  death,  you  know;  and  I  have  so 
much  faith  in  you,  in  your  skill,  and  your  honor,  and 
your  conscientiousness  —  if  there  be  any  such  qualities 
in  the  world  —  that  I  place  myself  unfalteringly  under 
your  professional  care.  Shake  hands  upon  it,  Martin 
Dobree." 

In  spite  of  my  repugnance  I  could  not  resist  taking  his 
offered  hand.  His  eyes  were  fastened  upon  me  with 
something  of  the  fabled  fascination  of  a  serpent's.  I  knew 
instinctively  that  he  would  have  the  power,  and  use  it,  of 
probing  every  wound  he  might  suspect  in  me  to  the  quick. 
Yet  he  interested  me ;  and  there  was  something  not  en- 
tirely repellent  to  me  about  him.  Above  all,  for  Olivia's 
sake,  should  we  find  her  still  living,  I  was  anxious  to 
study  his  character.  It  might  happen,  as  it  does  some- 
times, that  my  honor  and  straight-forwardness  might  prove 
a  match  for  his  crafty  shrewdness. 

"  There,"  he  said  exultantly,  "  Martin  Dobree  pledges 
himself  to  cure  me.  Carry,  you  are  the  witness  of  it.  If 
I  die,  he  has  been  my  assassin  as  surely  as  if  he  had 
plunged  a  stiletto  into  me." 

"Nonsense!"  I  answered,  "it  is  not  in  my  power  to 
heal  or  destroy.  I  simply  pledge  myself  to  use  every 
means  I  know  of  for  your  recovery." 

"  Which  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  he  replied,  "  for, 
mark  you,  I  will  be  the  most  careful  patient  you  ever  had. 
There  should  be  no  chance  for  you  even  if  Olivia  were 
alive." 

Always  harping  on  that  one  string.  Was  it  nothing 
more  than   a  love  of  torturing  some  one  that  made  him 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  321 

reiterate  those  words?  Or  did  he  wish  to  drive  home 
more  deeply  the  conviction  that  she  was  indeed  dead? 

"  Have  you  communicated  the  intelligence  of  her  death 
to  her  trustee  in  Australia?  "  I  asked. 

"No!  why  should  I?  "  he  said,  "no  good  would  come 
out  of  it  to  me.     Why  should  I  trouble  myself  about  it?  " 

"Nor  to  your  step-sister?  "  I  added. 

"To  Mrs.  Dobree?"  he  rejoined;  "no,  it  does  not  sig- 
nify a  straw  to  her  either.  She  holds  herself  aloof  from 
me  now,  confound  her!  You  are  not  on  very  good  terms 
with  her  yourself,  I  believe?  " 

The  cab  was  still  standing  at  the  door,  and  I  could  not 
leave  before  it  drove  away,  or  I  should  have  made  my 
visit  a  short  one.  Mrs.  Foster  was  glancing  through  the 
window  from  time  to  time,  evidently  on  the  watch  to  see 
the  visitor  depart.  Would  she  recognize  Johanna?  She 
had  stayed  some  weeks  in  Guernsey;  and  Johanna  was  a 
fine,  stately-looking  woman,  noticeable  among  strangers. 
I  must  do  something  to  get  her  away  from  her  post  of  ob- 
servation. 

"  Mrs.  Foster,"  I  said,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  at  the 
sound  of  her  name,  "  I  should  be  exceedingly  obliged  to 
you  if  you  will  give  me  another  sight  of  those  papers  you 
showed  to  me  the  last  time  I  was  here." 

She  was  away  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  heard  the  cab 
drive  off  before  she  returned.  That  was  the  chief  point 
gained.  When  the  papers  were  in  my  hand  I  just  glanced 
at  them,  and  that  was  all. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  where  they  came  from?  "  I  asked. 

"  There  is  the  London  post-mark  on  the  envelope,"  an- 
swered Foster.  Show  it  to  him,  Carry.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  learned  from  that." 

"  No,"  I  said,  comparing  the  hand-writing  on  the  en- 
velope with  the  letter,  and  finding  them  the  same.   "  Well, 


322  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

good-by!  I  cannot  often  pay  you  as  long  a  visit  as 
this." 

I  hurried  off  quickly  to  the  corner  of  Dawson  Street, 
where  Johanna  was  waiting  for  me.  She  looked  exceed- 
ingly contented  when  I  took  my  seat  beside  her  in  the 
cab. 

"  Well,  Martin,"  she  said,  "  you  need  suffer  no  more 
anxiety.  Olivia  has  gone  as  English  teacher  in  an  excel- 
lent French  school,  where  the  lady  is  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  English  ways  and  comforts.  This  is  the  prospectus 
of  the  establishment.  You  see  there  are '  extensive  grounds 
for  recreation,  and  the  comforts  of  a  cheerfully  happy 
home,  the  domestic  arrangements  being  on  a  thoroughly 
liberal  scale.'  Here  is  also  a  photographic  view  of  the 
place :  a  charming  villa,  you  see,  in  the  best  French  style. 
The  lady's  husband  is  an  avocat;  and  everything  is  taught 
by  professors — cosmography  and  pedagogy,  and  other 
studies  of  which  we  never  heard  when  I  was  a  girl.  Oli- 
via is  to  stay  there  twelve  months,  and  in  return  for  her 
services  will  take  lessons  from  any  professors  attending 
the  establishment.     Your  mind  may  be  quite  at  ease  now." 

"But  where  is  the  place?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh!  it  is  in  Normandy — Noireau,"  she  said — "quite 
out  of  the  range  of  railways  and  tourists.  There  will  be 
no  danger  of  any  one  finding  her  out  there ;  and  you  know 
she  has  changed  her  name  altogether  this  time." 

"  Did  you  discover  that  Olivia  and  Ellen  Martineau  are 
the  same  persons?"  I  asked. 

An  expression  of  bewilderment  and  consternation  came 
across  her  contented  face. 

"No,  I  did  not,"  she  answered;  "I  thought  you  were 
sure  of  that." 

But  I  was  not  sure  of  it ;  neither  could  Jack  be  sure. 
He  puzzled  himself  in  trying  to  give  a  satisfactory  descrip- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


zn 


tion  of  his  Ellen  Martineau ;  but  every  answer  he  gave  to 
my  eager  questions  plunged  us  into  greater  uncertainty. 
He  was  not  sure  of  the  color  either  of  her  hair  or  eyes, 
and  made  blundering  guesses  at  her  height.  The  chief 
proof  we  had  of  Olivia's  identity  was  the  drunken  claim 
made  upon  Ellen  Martineau  by  Foster,  a  month  after  he 
had  received  convincing  proof  that  she  was  dead.  What 
was  I  to  believe? 

It  was  running  too  great  a  risk  to  make  any  further  in- 
quiries at  No.  19  Bellringer  Street.  Mrs.  Wilkinson  was 
the  landlady  of  the  lodging-house,  and  she  had  told  Jo- 
hanna that  Madame  Perrier  boarded  with  her  when  she 
was  in  London.  But  she  might  begin  to  talk  to  her  other 
lodgers,  if  her  own  curiosity  were  excited ;  and  once  more 
my  desire  to  fathom  the  mystery  hanging  about  Olivia 
might  plunge  her  into  fresh  difficulties,  should  they  reach 
the  ears  of  Foster  or  his  wife. 

"  I  must  satisfy  myself  about  her  safety  now,"  I  said. 
"  Only  put  yourself  in  my  place,  Jack.  How  can  I  rest 
till  I  know  more  about  Olivia?  " 

"I  do  put  myself  in  your  place,"  he  answered.  "What 
do  you  say  to  having  a  run  down  to  this  place  in  Basse 
Normandy,  and  seeing  for  yourself  whether  Miss  Ellen 
Martineau  is  your  Olivia?  " 

"  How  can  I?  "  I  asked,  attempting  to  hang  back  from 
the  suggestion.  It  was  a  busy  time  with  us.  The  season 
was  in  full  roll,  and  our  most  aristocratic  patients  were  in 
town.  The  easterly  winds  were  bringing  in  their  usual 
harvest  of  bronchitis  and  diphtheria.  If  I  went,  Jack's 
hands  would  be  more  than  full.  Had  these  things  come 
to  perplex  us  only  two  months  earlier,  I  could  have  taken 
a  holiday  with  a  clear  conscience. 

"  Dad  will  jump  at  the  chance  of  coming  back  for  a 
week,"  replied  Jack;  "he  is  bored  to  death  down  at  Ful- 


324  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

ham.  Go  you  must,  for  my  sake,  old  fellow.  You  are 
good  for  nothing  as  long  as  you're  so  down  in  the  mouth. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  you." 

We  shook  hands  upon  that,  as  warmly  as  if  he  had  paid 
me  the  most  flattering  compliments. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  325 


CHAPTER    XLII. 


NOIREAU. 


IN  this  way  it  came  to  pass  that  two  evenings  later  I 
was  crossing  the  Channel  to  Havre,  and  found  my- 
self about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  at 
Falaise.  It  was  the  terminus  of  the  railway  in  that  direc- 
tion ;  and  a  very  ancient  conveyance,  bearing  the  name 
of  La  Petite  Vitesse,  was  in  waiting  to  carry  on  any  trav- 
ellers who  were  venturesome  enough  to  explore  the  re- 
gions beyond.  There  was  space  inside  for  six  passengers, 
but  it  smelt  too  musty,  and  was  too  full  of  the  fumes  of 
bad  tobacco  for  me;  and  I  very  much  preferred  sitting 
beside  the  driver,  a  red-faced,  smooth-cheeked  Norman, 
habited  in  a  blue  blouse,  who  could  crack  his  long  whip 
with  almost  the  skill  of  a  Parisian  omnibus-driver.  We 
were  friends  in  a  trice,  for  my  patois  was  almost  identical 
with  his  own,  and  he  could  not  believe  his  own  ears  that 
he  was  talking  with  an  Englishman. 

"  La  Petite  Vitesse  "  bore  out  its  name  admirably,  if  it 
were  meant  to  indicate  exceeding  slowness.  We  never 
advanced  beyond  a  slow  trot,  and  at  the  slightest  hint  of 
rising  ground  the  trot  slackened  into  a  walk,  and  eventu- 
ally subsided  into  a  crawl.  By  these  means  the  distance 
we  traversed  was  made  to  seem  tremendous,  and  the 
drowsy  jingle  of  the  collar-bells,  intimating  that  progress 
was  being  accomplished,  added  to  the  delusion.  But  the 
fresh,  sweet  air,  blowing  over  leagues  of  fields  and  mead- 
ows, untainted  with  a  breath  of  smoke,  gave  me  a  delicious 


326  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

tingling  in  the  veins.  I  had  not  felt  such  a  glow  of  exhil- 
aration since  that  bright  morning  when  I  had  crossed  the 
channel  to  Sark,  to  ask  Olivia  to  become  mine. 

The  sun  sank  below  the  distant  horizon,  with  the  trees 
showing  clearly  against  it,  for  the  atmosphere  was  as  trans- 
parent as  crystal ;  and  the  light  of  the  stars  that  came  out 
one  by  one  almost  cast  a  defined  shadow  upon  our  path, 
from  the  poplar-trees  standing  in  long  straight  rows  in  the 
hedges.  If  I  found  Olivia  at  the  end  of  that  star-lit  path 
my  gladness  in  it  would  be  completed.  Yet  if  I  found  her, 
what  then?  I  should  see  her  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  dull 
salon  of  a  school,  perhaps  with  some  watchful,  spying 
Frenchwoman  present.  I  should  simply  satisfy  myself  that 
she  was  living.  There  could  be  nothing  more  between  us. 
I  dare  not  tell  her  how  dear  she  was  to  me,  or  ask  her  if 
she  ever  thought  of  me  in  her  loneliness  and  friendlessness. 
I  began  to  wish  that  I  had  brought  Johanna  with  me,  who 
could  have  taken  her  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  and  com- 
forted her.     Why  had  I  not  thought  of  that  before? 

As  we  proceeded  at  our  delusive  pace  along  the  last 
stage  of  our  journey,  I  began  to  sound  the  driver,  cautiously 
wheeling  about  the  object  of  my  excursion  into  those  re- 
mote regions.  I  had  tramped  through  Normandy  and 
Brittany  three  or  four  times,  but  there  had  been  no  induce- 
ment to  visit  Noireau,  which  resembled  a  Lancashire  cot- 
ton-town, and  I  had  never  been  there. 

"There  are  not  many  English  at  Noireau?"  I  re- 
marked suggestively. 

"  Not  one,"  he  replied — "  not  one  at  this  moment.  There 
was  one  little  English  mam'zelle — peste! — a  very  pretty 
little  English  girl,  who  was  voyaging  precisely  like  you, 
m'sieur,  some  months  ago.  There  was  a  little  child  with 
her,  and  the  two  were  quite  alone.  They  are  very  in- 
trepid, are  the  English  mam'zelles.     She  did  not  know  a 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  327 

word  of  our  language.  But  that  was  droll,  m'sieur!  A 
French  demoiselle  would  never  voyage  like  that." 

The  little  child  puzzled  me.  Yet  I  could  not  help 
fancying  that  this  young  Englishwoman  travelling  alone, 
with  no  knowledge  of  French,  must  be  my  Olivia.  At 
any  rate  it  could  be  no  other  than  Miss  Ellen  Martineau. 

"  Where  was  she  going  to?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  came  to  Noireau  to  be  an  instructress  in  an  estab- 
lishment," answered  the  driver  in  a  tone  of  great  enjoy- 
ment— "  an  establishment  founded  by  the  wife  of  Monsieur 
Emile  Perrier,  the  avocat!  He!  he!  he!  Mon  Dieu! 
how  droll  that  was,  m'sieur!  An  avocat!  So  they  be- 
lieved that  in  England?  Bah!  Emile  Perrier  an  avocat 
— mon  Dieu!  " 

"  But  what  is  there  to  laugh  at?  "  I  asked,  as  the  man's 
laughter  ran  through  the  quiet  night. 

"Am  I  an  avocat?"  he  inquired  derisively;  "am  I  a 
proprietor;  am  I  even  a  cure?  Pardon,  m'sieur,  but  I  am 
just  as  much  avocat,  proprietor,  cure,  as  Emile  Perrier. 
He  was  an  impostor.  He  became  bankrupt ;  he  and  his 
wife  ran  away  to  save  themselves ;  the  establishment  was 
broken  up.  It  was  a  bubble,  m'sieur,  and  it  burst  comme 
ca." 

My  driver  clapped  his  hands  together  lightly,  as  though 
Monsieur  Perrier's  bubble  needed  very  little  pressure  to 
disperse  it. 

"Good  heavens!  "  I  exclaimed,  "but  what  became  of 
Oli —  of  the  young  English  lady,  and  the  child?  " 

"Ah,  m'sieur!  "  he  said,  "  I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  live 
in  Noireau,  but  I  pass  to  and  fro  from  Falaise  in  la  Petite 
Vitesse.  She  has  not  returned  in  my  omnibus,  that  is  all 
I  know.  But  she  could  go  to  Granville,  or  to  Caen. 
There  are  other  omnibuses,  you  see.  Somebody  will  tell 
you  down  there." 


328  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

For  three  or  four  miles  before  us  there  lay  a  road  as 
straight  as  a  rule,  ending  in  a  small  cluster  of  lights  glim- 
mering in  the  bottom  of  a  valley,  into  which  we  were  de- 
scending with  great  precaution  ou  the  part  of  the  driver 
and  his  team.  That  was  Noireau.  But  already  my  ex- 
hilaration was  exchanged  for  profound  anxiety.  I  ex- 
torted from  the  Norman  all  the  information  he  possessed 
concerning  the  bankrupt ;  it  was  not  much,  and  it  only 
served  to  heighten  my  solicitude. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  before  we  entered  the 
town;  but  I  learned  a  few  more  particulars  from  the 
middle-aged  woman  in  the  omnibus  bureau.  She  recol- 
lected the  name  of  Miss  Ellen  Martineau,  and  her  arrival ; 
and  she  described  her  with  the  accuracy  and  faithfulness 
of  a  woman.  If  she  were  not  Olivia  herself  she  must  be 
her  very  counterpart.  But  who  was  the  child,  a  girl  of 
nine  or  ten  years  of  age,  who  had  accompanied  her?  It 
was  too  late  to  learn  any  more  about  them.  The  land- 
lady of  the  hotel  confirmed  all  I  had  heard,  and  added 
several  items  of  information.  Monsieur  Perrier  and  his 
wife  had  imposed  upon  several  English  families,  and  had 
succeeded  in  getting  dozens  of  English  pupils,  so  she  as- 
sured me,  who  had  been  scattered  over  the  country, 
Heaven  only  knew  where,  when  the  school  was  broken 
up,  about  a  month  ago. 

I  started  out  early  the  next  morning  to  find  the  Rue 
de  Grace,  where  the  inscription  on  my  photographic  view 
of  the  premises  represented  them  as  situated.  The  town 
was  in  the  condition  of  a  provincial  town  in  England 
about  a  century  ago.  The  streets  were  as  dirty  as  the 
total  absence  of  drains  and  scavengers  could  make  them, 
and  the  cleanest  path  was  up  the  kennel  in  the  centre. 
The  filth  of  the  houses  was  washed  down  into  them  by 
pipes,  with  little  cisterns  at  each  story,  and  under  almost 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  329 

every  window.  There  were  many  improprieties,  and  some 
indecencies,  shocking  to  English  sensibilities.  In  the 
Rue  de  Grace  I  saw  two  nuns  in  their  hoods  and  veils, 
unloading  a  cart  full  of  manure.  A  ladies'  school  for 
English  people  in  a  town  like  this  seemed  ridiculous. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  houses  in  my  pho- 
tographic view.  There  were  two  of  them,  one  standing 
in  the  street,  the  other  lying  back  beyond  a  very  pleasant 
garden.  A  Frenchman  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  broad 
gravel  path  connecting  them,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  exam- 
ining critically  the  vines  growing  against  the  walls.  Two 
little  children  were  gambolling  about  in  close  white  caps, 
and  with  frocks  down  to  their  heels.  Upon  seeing  me 
he  took  his  cigar  from  his  lips  with  two  fingers  of  one 
hand,  and  lifted  his  hat  with  the  other.  I  returned  the 
salutation  with  a  politeness  as  scrupulous  as  his  own. 

"Monsieur  is  an  Englishman?"  he  said,  in  a  doubtful 
tone. 

"  From  the  Channel  Islands,"  I  replied. 

"Ah !  you  belong  to  us,"  he  said,  "  but  you  are  hybrid, 
half  English,  half  French ;  a  fine  race.  I  also  have  Eng- 
lish blood  in  my  veins." 

I  paid  monsieur  a  compliment  upon  the  result  of  the 
admixture  of  blood  in  his  own  instance,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  unfold  my  object  in  visiting  him. 

"Ah !  "  he  said,  "  yes,  yes,  yes ;  Perrier  was  an  impostor. 
These  houses  are  mine,  monsieur.  I  live  in  the  front 
yonder;  my  daughter  and  son-in-law  occupy  the  other. 
We  had  the  photographs  taken  for  our  own  pleasure,  but 
Perrier  must  have  bought  them  from  the  artist,  no  doubt. 
I  have  a  small  cottage  at  the  back  of  my  house ;  voila, 
monsieur!  there  it  is.  Perrier  rented  it  from  me  for  two 
hundred  francs  a  year.  I  permitted  him  to  pass  along 
this  wall,  and   through   our  coach-house   into   a   passage 


330  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

which  leads  to  the  street  where  madame  had  her  school. 
Permit  me,  and  I  will  show  it  to  you." 

He  led  me  through  a  shed,  and  along  a  dirty,  vaulted 
passage,  into  a  mean  street  at  the  back.  A  small,  miser- 
able-looking house  stood  in  it,  shut  up,  with  broken  per- 
siennes covering  the  windows.  My  heart  sank  at  the  idea 
of  Olivia  living  here,  in  such  discomfort,  and  neglect,  and 
sordid  poverty. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  young  English  lady  here,  mon- 
sieur?" I  asked;  "she  arrived  about  the  beginning  of 
last  November." 

"But,  yes,  certainly,  monsieur,"  he  replied,  "a  charm- 
ing Englishwoman!  One  must  have  been  blind  not  to 
observe  her.  A  face  sweet  and  gracieuse ;  with  hair  of 
gold,  but  a  litte  more  sombre.  Yes,  yes!  The  ladies 
might  not  admire  her,  but  we  others " 

He  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  detestable 
manner. 

"What  height  was  she,  monsieur?"  I  inquired. 

"A  just  height,"  he  answered,  "  not  tall  like  a  camel, 
nor  too  short  like  a  monkey.  She  would  stand  an  inch  or 
two  above  your  shoulder,  monsieur." 

It  could  be  no  other  than  my  Olivia!  She  had  been 
living  here  then,  in  this  miserable  place,  only  a  month 
ago;  but  where  could  she  be  now?  How  was  I  to  find 
any  trace  of  her? 

"  I  will  make  some  inquiries  from  my  daughter,"  said 
the  Frenchman ;  "  when  the  establishment  was  broken  up 
I  was  ill  with  the  fever,  monsieur.  We  have  fever  often 
here.     But  she  will  know — I  will  ask  her." 

He  returned  to  me  after  some  time,  with  the  informa- 
tion that  the  English  demoiselle  had  been  seen  in  the 
house  of  a  woman  who  sold  milk,  Mademoiselle  Rosalie 
by  name;  and  he  voluntered  to  accompany  me  to  her 
dwelling. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  331 

It  was  a  poor-looking  house,  of  one  room  only,  in  the 
same  street  as  the  school;  but  we  found  no  one  there 
except  an  old  woman,  exceedingly  deaf,  who  told  us,  after 
much  difficulty  in  making  her  understand,  that  Mademoi- 
selle Rosalie  was  gone  somewhere  to  nurse  a  relative,  who 
was  dangerously  ill.  She  had  not  had  any  cows  of  her 
own,  and  she  had  easily  disposed  of  her  small  business  to 
this  old  woman  and  her  daughter.  Did  the  messieurs 
want  any  milk  for  their  families?  No.  Well,  then,  she 
could  not  tell  us  anything  more  about  Madame  Rosalie ; 
and  she  knew  nothing  of  an  Englishwoman  and  a  little  girl. 

I  turned  away  baffled  and  discouraged ;  but  my  new 
friend  was  not  so  quickly  depressed.  It  was  impossible, 
he  maintained,  that  the  English  girl  and  the  child  could 
have  left  the  town  unnoticed.  He  went  with  me  to  all 
the  omnibus  bureaux,  where  we  made  urgent  inquiries 
concerning  the  passengers  who  had  quitted  Noireau  dur- 
ing the  last  month.  No  places  had  been  taken  for  Miss 
Ellen  Martineau  and  the  child,  for  there  was  no  such  name 
in  any  of  the  books.  But  at  each  bureau  I  was  recom- 
mended to  see  the  drivers  upon  their  return  in  the  even- 
ing; and  I  was  compelled  to  give  up  the  pursuit  for  that 
day. 


332  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

A    SECOND    PURSUER. 

NO  wonder  there  was  fever  in  the  town,  I  thought,  as 
I  picked  my  way  among  the  heaps  of  garbage  and 
refuse  lying  out  in  the  streets.  The  most  hideous  old 
women  I  ever  saw,  wrinkled  over  each  inch  of  their  skin, 
blear-eyed,  and  eyelids  reddened  by  smoke,  met  me  at 
every  turn.  Sallow  weavers,  in  white  caps,  gazed  out  at 
me  from  their  looms  in  almost  every  house.  There  was 
scarcely  a  child  to  be  seen  about.  The  whole  district, 
undrained  and  unhealthy,  bears  the  name  of  the  "  Manu- 
factory of  Little  Angels,"  from  the  number  of  children 
who  die  there.  And  this  was  the  place  where  Olivia  had 
been  spending  a  very  hard  and  severe  winter! 

There  was  going  to  be  a  large  cattle  fair  the  next  day, 
and  all  the  town  was  active.  Every  inn  in  the  place  was 
crowded  to  overflowing.  As  I  sat  at  the  window  of  my 
cafe,  watching  the  picturesque  groups  which  formed  in 
the  street  outside,  I  heard  a  vehement  altercation  going 
on  in  the  archway,  under  which  was  the  entrance  to  my 
hotel. 

"Grands  Dieux!"  cried  the  already  familiar  voice  of 
my  landlady,  shrill  as  the  cackling  of  a  hen,  "  Grands 
Dieux!  not  a  single  soul  from  Ville-en-bois  can  rest  here, 
neither  man  nor  woman!  They  have  the  fever  like  a  pest 
there.  No,  no,  m'sieur,  that  is  impossible;  go  away,  you 
and  your  beast.     There   is  room  at  the    Lion  d'or.     But 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


333 


the  gens  d'armes  should  not  let  you  enter  the  town.  We 
have  fever  enough  of  our  own." 

"But  my  farm  is  a  league  from  Ville-en-bois,"  was  the 
answer  in  the  slow,  rugged  accents  of  a  country  peasant. 

"But  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible,"  she  retorted;  "  I  have 
an  Englishman  here,  very  rich,  a  milor,  and  he  will  not 
hear  of  any  person  from  Ville-en-bois  resting  in  the  house. 
Go  away  to  the  Lion  d'or,  my  good  friend,  where  there 
are  no  English.  They  are  as  afraid  of  the  fever  as  of  the 
devil." 

I  laughed  to  myself  at  my  landlady's  ingenious  excuses; 
but  after  this  the  conversation  fell  into  a  lower  key,  and  I 
heard  no  more  of  it. 

I  went  out  late  in  the  evening  to  question  each  of  the 
omnibus -drivers,  but  in  vain.  Whether  they  were  too 
busy  to  give  me  proper  attention,  or  too  anxious  to  join 
the  stir  and  mirth  of  the  townspeople,  they  all  declared 
they  knew  nothing  of  any  Englishwoman.  As  I  returned 
dejectedly  to  my  inn,  I  heard  a  lamentable  voice,  evi- 
dently English,  bemoaning  in  doubtful  French.  The  om- 
nibus from  Falaise  had  just  come  in,  and  under  the  lamp 
in  the  entrance  of  the  archway  stood  a  lady  before  my  host- 
ess, who  was  volubly  asserting  that  there  was  no  room 
left  in  her  house.  I  hastened  to  the  assistance  of  my 
country-woman,  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  falling  full  upon 
her  face  revealed  to  me  who  she  was. 

"  Mrs.  Foster!  "  I  exclaimed,  almost  shouting  her  name 
in  my  astonishment.  She  looked  ready  to  faint  with  fa- 
tigue and  dismay,  and  she  laid  her  hand  heavily  on  my 
arm,  as  if  to  save  herself  from  sinking  to  the  ground. 

"  Have  you  found  her?  "  she  asked  involuntarily. 

"Not  a  trace  of  her,"  I  answered. 

Mrs.  Foster  broke  into  an  hysterical  laugh,  which  was 
very  quickly  followed  by  sobs.     I  had  no  great  difficulty 


334  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

in  persuading  the  landlady  to  find  some  accommodation 
for  her,  and  then  I  retired  to  my  own  room  to  smoke  in 
peace,  and  turn  over  the  extraordinary  meeting  which  had 
been  the  last  incident  of  the  day. 

It  required  very  little  keenness  to  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Fosters  had  obtained  their  information  con- 
cerning Miss  Ellen  Martineau  where  we  had  got  ours — • 
from  Mrs.  Wilkinson ;  also,  that  Mrs.  Foster  had  lost  no 
time  in  following  up  the  clue,  for  she  was  only  twenty-four 
hours  behind  me.  She  had  looked  thoroughly  astonished 
and  dismayed  when  she  saw  me  there ;  so  she  had  had  no 
idea  that  I  was  on  the  same  track.  But  nothing  could  be 
more  convincing  than  this  journey  of  hers,  that  neither 
she  nor  Foster  really  believed  in  Olivia's  death.  That 
was  as  clear  as  day.  But  what  explanation  could  I  give 
to  myself  of  those  letters,  of  Olivia's  above  all?  Was  it 
possible  that  she  had  caused  them  to  be  written,  and  sent 
to  her  husband?  I  could  never  believe  that,  without  a 
sharp  sense  of  disappointment  in  her. 

I  saw  Mrs.  Foster  early  in  the  morning,  somewhat  as  a 
truce -bearer  may  meet  another  on  neutral  ground.  She 
was  grateful  to  me  for  my  interposition  in  her  behalf  the 
night  before ;  and  as  I  knew  Ellen  Martineau  to  be  safely 
out  of  the  way,  I  was  inclined  to  be  tolerant  toward  her. 
I  assured  her,  upon  my  honor,  that  I  had  failed  in  dis- 
covering any  trace  of  Olivia  in  Noireau,  and  I  told  her  all 
I  had  learned  about  the  bankruptcy  of  Monsieur  Perrier, 
and  the  scattering  of  the  school. 

"But  why  should  you  undertake  such  a  chase?"  I 
asked ;  "  if  you  and  Foster  are  satisfied  that  Olivia  is 
dead,  why  should  you  be  running  after  Ellen  Martineau? 
You  show  me  the  papers  which  seem  to  prove  her  death, 
and  now  I  find  you  in  this  remote  part  of  Normandy,  evi- 
dently in  pursuit  of  her.     What  does  this  mean?" 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  335 

"  You  are  doing  the  same  thing  yourself,"  she  answered. 

"  Yes,11  I  replied,  "  because  I  am  not  satisfied.  But 
you  have  proved  your  conviction  by  becoming  Richard 
Fosters  second  wife/' 

"  That  is  the  very  point,'1  she  said,  shedding  a  few  tears ; 
■  as  soon  as  ever  Mrs.  Wilkinson  described  Ellen  Marti- 
neau  to  me,  when  she  was  talking  about  her  visitor  who 
had  come  to  inquire  after  her,  in  that  cab  which  was 
standing  at  the  door  the  last  time  you  visited  Mr.  Foster 
— and  I  had  no  suspicion  of  it — I  grew  quite  frightened 
lest  he  should  ever  be  charged  with  marrying  me  while 
she  was  alive.  So  I  persuaded  him  to  let  me  come  here 
and  make  sure  of  it,  though  the  journey  costs  a  great 
deal,  and  we  have  very  little  money  to  spare.  We  did 
not  know  what  tricks  Olivia  might  do,  and  it  made  me 
very  miserable  to  think  she  might  be  still  alive,  and  me 
in  her  place." 

I  could  not  but  acknowledge  to  myself  that  there  was 
some  reason  in  Mrs.  Foster's  statement  of  the  case. 

"There  is  not  the  slightest  chance  of  your  finding  her," 
I  remarked. 

"Isn't  there?"  She  asked,  with  an  evil  gleam  in  her 
eyes,  which  I  just  caught  before  she  hid  her  face  again 
in  her  handkerchief. 

"At  any  rate,"  I  said,  "you  would  have  no  power  over 
her  if  you  found  her.  You  could  not  take  her  back  with 
you  by  force.  I  do  not  know  how  the  French  laws  would 
regard  Foster's  authority,  but  you  can  have  none  what- 
ever, and  he  is  quite  unfit  to  take  this  long  journey  to 
claim  her.  Really  I  do  not  see  what  you  can  do;  and  I 
should  think  your  wisest  plan  would  be  to  go  back  and 
take  care  of  him,  leaving  her  alone.  I  am  here  to  protect 
her,  and  I  shall  stay  until  I  see  you  fairly  out  of  the 
place." 


336  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

She  did  not  speak  again  for  some  minutes,  and  she  was 
evidently  reflecting  upon  what  I  had  just  said. 

"  But  what  are  we  to  live  upon? "  she  asked  at  last; 
"  there  is  her  money  lying  in  the  bank,  and  neither  she 
nor  Richard  can  touch  it.  It  must  be  paid  to  her  per- 
sonally or  to  her  order;  and  she  cannot  prove  her  identity 
without  the  papers  Richard  holds.  It  is  aggravating.  I 
am  at  my  wits'  end  about  it." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  said.  "  Why  cannot  we  come  to  some 
arrangement,  supposing  Ellen  Martineau  proves  to  be 
Olivia?  It  would  be  better  for  you  all  to  make  some  di- 
vision of  her  property  by  mutual  agreement.  You  know 
best  whether  Olivia  could  insist  upon  a  judicial  separation. 
But  in  any  other  case  why  should  not  Foster  agree  to  re- 
ceive half  her  income,  and  leave  her  free,  as  free  as  she 
can  be,  with  the  other  half?  Surely  some  mutual  agree- 
ment could  be  made." 

"He  would  never  do  it!  "  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands  round  her  knees,  and  swaying  to  and  fro  passion- 
ately; "he  never  loses  any  power.  She  belongs  to  him, 
and  he  never  gives  up  anything.  He  would  torment  her 
almost  to  death,  but  he  would  never  let  her  go  free.  No, 
no.     You  do  not  know  him,  Dr.  Martin." 

"  Then  we  will  try  to  get  a  divorce,"  I  said,  looking  at 
her  steadily. 

"On  what  grounds?"  she  asked,  looking  at  me  as 
steadily. 

I  could  not  and  would  not  enter  into  the  question  with 
her. 

"  There  has  been  no  personal  cruelty  on  Richard's  part 
toward  her,"  she  resumed  with  a  half-smile.  It's  true  I 
locked  her  up  for  a  few  days  once,  but  he  was  in  Paris 
and  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  could  not  prove  a 
single  act  of  cruelty  toward  her." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  337 

Still  I  did  not  answer,  though  she  paused  and  regarded 
me  keenly. 

"  We  were  not  married  till  we  had  reason  to  believe  her 
dead,"  she  continued ;  "  there  is  no  harm  in  that.  If  she 
has  forged  those  papers,  she  is  to  blame.  We  were  mar- 
ried openly,  in  our  parish  church;  what  could  be  said 
against  that?" 

"Let  us  return  to  what  I  told  you  at  first,"  I  said;  "if 
you  find  Olivia,  you  have  no  more  authority  over  her  than 
I  have.  You  will  be  obliged  to  return  to  England  alone ; 
and  I  shall  place  her  in  some  safe  custody.  I  shall  ascer- 
tain precisely  how  the  law  stands,  both  here  and  in  Eng- 
land. Now  I  advise  you,  for  Foster's  sake,  make  as  much 
haste  home  as  you  can ;  for  he  will  be  left  without  nurse 
or  doctor  while  we  two  are  away." 

She  sat  gnawing  her  under-lip  for  some  minutes,  and 
looking  as  vicious  as  Madam  was  wont  to  do  in  her  worst 
tempers. 

"  You  let  me  make  some  inquiries  to  satisfy  myself  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied;  "you  will  only  discover,  as  I 
have,  that  the  school  was  broken  up  a  month  ago,  and 
Ellen  Martineau  has  disappeared." 

I  kept  no  very  strict  watch  over  her  during  the  day,  for 
I  felt  sure  she  would  find  no  trace  of  Olivia  in  Noireau. 
At  night  I  saw  her  again.  She  was  worn  out  and  despond- 
ent, and  declared  herself  quite  ready  to  return  to  Falaise 
by  the  omnibus  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  saw  her 
off,  and  gave  the  driver  a  fee,  to  bring  me  word  where  she 
took  her  ticket  for  at  the  railway  station.  When  he  re- 
turned in  the  evening  he  told  me  he  had  himself  bought 
her  one  for  Honfleur,  and  started  her  fairly  on  her  way 
home. 

As  for  myself,  I  had  spent  the  day  in  making  inquiries 
22 


338  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

at  the  offices  of  the  octrois — those  local  custom-houses 
which  stand  at  every  entrance  into  a  town  or  village  in 
France,  for  the  gathering  of  trifling,  vexatious  taxes  upon 
articles  of  food  and  merchandise.  I  had  at  one  of  these 
learned  that,  three  or  four  weeks  ago,  a  young  English- 
woman with  a  little  girl  had  passed  by  on  foot,  each  car- 
rying a  small  bundle,  which  had  not  been  examined.  It 
was  the  octroi  on  the  road  to  Granville,  which  was  between 
thirty  and  forty  miles  away.  From  Granville  was  the 
nearest  route  to  the  Channel  Islands.  Was  it  not  possi- 
ble that  Olivia  had  resolved  to  seek  refuge  there  again? 
Perhaps  to  seek  me !  My  heart,  bowed  down  by  the  sad 
picture  of  her  and  the  little  child  leaving  the  town  on 
foot,  beat  high  again  at  the  thought  of  Olivia  in  Guernsey. 

I  set  off  for  Granville  by  the  omnibus  next  morning, 
and  made  further  inquiries  at  every  village  we  passed 
through,  whether  anything  had  been  seen  of  a  young  Eng- 
lishwoman and  a  little  girl.  At  first  the  answer  was  yes ; 
then  it  became  a  matter  of  doubt ;  at  last  everywhere  they 
replied  by  a  discouraging  no.  At.  one  point  of  our  jour- 
ney we  passed  a  dilapidated  sign-post  with  a  rude,  black 
figure  of  the  Virgin  hanging  below  it.  I  could  just  de- 
cipher upon  one  finger  of  the  post,  in  half  obliterated  let- 
ters, "  Ville-en-bois."  It  recurred  to  me  that  this  was  the 
place  where  fever  was  raging  like  the  pest. 

"  It  is  a  poor  place,"  said  the  driver,  disparagingly, 
"there  is  nothing  there  but  the  fever,  and  a  good  angel 
of  a  cure,  who  is  the  only  doctor  into  the  bargain.  It  is 
two  leagues  and  a  kilometre,  and  it  is  on  the  road  to  no- 
where." 

I  could  not  stop  in  my  quest  to  turn  aside,  and  visit 
this  village  smitten  with  fever,  though  I  felt  a  strong  in- 
clination to  do  so.  At  Granville  I  learned  that  a  young 
lady  and  a  child  had  made  the  voyage   to  Jersey  a  short 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


339 


time  before ;  and  I  went  on  with  stronger  hope.  But  in 
Jersey  I  could  obtain  no  further  information  about  her; 
nor  in  Guernsey,  whither  I  felt  sure  Olivia  would  certainly 
have  proceeded.  I  took  one  day  more  to  cross  over  to 
Sark,  and  consult  Tardif ;  but  he  knew  no  more  than  I 
did.  He  absolutely  refused  to  believe  that  Olivia  was 
dead. 

"  In  August,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  hear  from  her.  Take 
courage  and  comfort.  She  promised  it,  and  she  will  keep 
her  promise.  If  she  had  known  herself  to  be  dying  she 
would  have  sent  me  word." 

"  It  is  a  long  time  to  wait,"  I  said,  with  an  utter  sink- 
ing of  spirit. 

"It  is  a  long  time  to  wait!  "  he  echoed,  lifting  up  his 
hands,  and  letting  them  fall  again  with  a  gesture  of  weari- 
ness; "but  we  must  wait  and  hope." 

To  wait  in  impatience,  and  to  hope  at  times,  and  de- 
spair at  times,  I  returned  to  London. 


34°  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


THE    LAW    OF    MARRIAGE. 


ONE  of  my  first  proceedings,  after  my  return,  was  to 
ascertain  how  the  English  law  stood  with  regard  to 
Olivia's  position.  Fortunately  for  me,  one  of  Dr.  Senior's 
oldest  friends  was  a  lawyer  of  great  repute,  and  he  dis- 
cussed the  question  with  me  after  a  dinner  at  his  house 
at  Fulham.  "  There  seems  to  me  no  proof  against  the 
husband  of  any  kind,"  he  said,  after  I  had  told  him  all. 

"  Why,"  I  exclaimed,  "  here  you  have  a  girl,  brought 
up  in  luxury  and  wealth,  willing  to  brave  any  poverty 
rather  than  continue  to  live  with  him." 

"A  girl's  whim,"  he  said;  "mania,  perhaps.  Is  there 
insanity  in  her  family?  " 

"  She  is  as  sane  as  I  am,"  I  answered.  "  Is  there  no 
law  to  protect  a  wife  against  the  companionship  of  such 
a  woman  as  this  second  Mrs.  Foster?  " 

"  The  husband  introduces  her  as  his  cousin,"  he  rejoined, 
"  and  places  her  in  some  little  authority  on  the  plea  that 
his  wife  is  too  young  to  be  left  alone  safely  in  Continental 
hotels.  There  is  no  reasonable  objection  to  be  taken  to 
that." 

"  Then  Foster  could  compel  her  to  return  to  him  ?  "  I 
said. 

"As  far  as  I  can  see  into  the  case,  he  certainly  could," 
was  the  answer,  which  drove  me  nearly  frantic. 

"But  there  is  this  second  marriage,"  I  objected. 

"  There   lies  the  kernel  of  the  case,"  he  said,  daintily 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


341 


peeling  his  walnuts.  "  You  tell  me  there  are  papers, 
which  you  believe  to  be  forgeries,  purporting  to  be  the 
medical  certificate  and  corroborative  proof  of  her  death. 
Now,  if  the  wife  be  guilty  of  framing  these,  the  husband 
will  bring  them  against  her  as  the  grounds  on  which  he 
felt  free  to  contract  his  second  marriage.  She  has  done  a 
very  foolish  and  a  very  wicked  thing  there." 

"You  think  she  did  it?  "  I  asked. 

He  smiled  significantly,  but  without  saying  anything. 

"I  cannot!  "  I  cried. 

"Ah!  you  are  blind,"  he  replied,  with  the  same  mad- 
dening smile ;  "  but  let  me  return.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
the  husband  has  forged  these  papers,  it  would  go  far  with 
me  as  strong  presumptive  evidence  against  him,  upon 
which  we  might  go  in  for  a  divorce,  not  a  separation 
merely.  If  the  young  lady  had  remained  with  him  till 
she  had  collected  proof  of  his  unfaithfulness  to  her,  this, 
with  his  subsequent  marriage  to  the  same  person  during 
her  lifetime,  would  probably  have  set  her  absolutely  free." 

"  But  what  can  be  done  now?  "  I  asked. 

"All  you  can  do,"  he  answered,  "  is  to  establish  your  in- 
fluence over  this  fellow,  and  go  cautiously  to  work  with 
him.  As  long  as  the  lady  is  in  France,  if  she  be  alive, 
and  he  is  too  ill  to  go  after  her,  she  is  safe.  You  may 
convince  him  by  degrees  that  it  is  to  his  interest  to  come 
to  some  terms  with  her.  A  formal  deed  of  separation 
might  be  agreed  upon,  and  drawn  up;  but  even  that  will 
not  perfectly  secure  her  in  the  future." 

I  was  compelled  to  remain  satisfied  with  this  opinion. 
Yet  how  could  I  be  satisfied,  while  Olivia,  if  she  was  still 
living,  was  wandering  about  homeless,  and,  as  I  feared, 
destitute,  in  a  foreign  country? 

I  made  my  first  call  upon  Foster  the  next  evening. 
Mrs.  Foster  had  been  to  Brook  Street  every  day  since  her 


342  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

return,  to  inquire  for  me,  and  to  leave  an  urgent  message 
that  I  should  go  to  Bellringer  Street  as  soon  as  I  was 
again  in  town.  The  lodging-house  looked  almost  as 
wretched  as  the  forsaken  dwelling  down  at  Noireau  where ' 
Olivia  had  perhaps  been  living;  and  the  stifling,  musty 
air  inside  it  almost  made  me  gasp  for  breath. 

"  So  you  are  come  back !  "  was  Foster's  greeting,  as  I 
entered  the  dingy  room. 

"  Yes,1'  I  replied. 

"  I  need  not  ask  what  success  you've  had,"  he  said, 
sneering:  "  Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover?  Your  trip 
has  not  agreed  with  you,  that  is  plain  enough.  It  did 
not  agree  with  Carry,  either,  for  she  came  back  swearing 
she  would  never  go  on  such  a  wild-goose  chase  again. 
You  know  I  was  quite  opposed  to  her  going?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  incredulously.  The  diamond  ring  had 
disappeared  from  his  finger,  and  it  was  easy  to  guess  how 
the  funds  had  been  raised  for  the  journey. 

"  Altogether  opposed,"  he  repeated.  "  I  believe  Olivia 
is  dead.  I  am  quite  sure  she  has  never  been  under  this 
roof  with  me,  as  Miss  Ellen  Martineau  has  been.  I  should 
have  known  it  as  surely  as  ever  a  tiger  scented  its  prey. 
Do  you  suppose  I  have  no  sense  keen  enough  to  tell  me 
she  was  in  the  very  house  where  I  was?  " 

"Nonsense!  "  I  answered.  His  eyes  glistened  cruelly, 
and  made  me  almost  ready  to  spring  upon  him.  I  could 
have  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  shaken  him  to  death, 
in  my  sudden  passion  of  loathing  against  him ;  but  I  sat 
quiet,  and  ejaculated  "  Nonsense!  "  Such  power  has  the 
spirit  of  the  nineteenth  century  among  civilized  classes. 

"  Olivia  is  dead,"  he  said,  in  a  solemn  tone.  "  I  am  con- 
vinced of  that  from  another  reason ;  through  all  the  mis- 
ery of  our  marriage,  I  never  knew  her  guilty  of  an  untruth, 
not  the  smallest.     She  was  as  true   as  the  Gospel.     Do 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


343 


you  think  you  or  Carry  could  make  me  believe  that  she 
would  trifle  with  such  an  awful  subject,  as  her  own  death  ? 
No.  I  would  take  my  oath  that  Olivia  would  never 
have  had  that  letter  sent,  or  write  to  me  those  few  lines 
of  farewell,  but  to  let  me  know  that  she  was  really  dead." 

His  voice  faltered  a  little,  as  though  even  he  were 
moved  by  the  thought  of  her  early  death.  Mrs.  Foster 
glanced  at  him  jealously,  and  he  looked  back  at  her  with 
a  provoking  curve  about  his  lips.  For  the  moment  there 
was  more  hatred  than  love  in  the  regards  exchanged  be- 
tween them.     I  saw  it  was  useless  to  pursue  the  subject. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  came  to  arrange  a  time  for  Dr. 
Lowry  to  visit  you  with  me,  for  the  purpose  of  a  thorough 
examination.  It  is  possible  that  Dr.  Senior  may  be  in- 
duced to  join  us,  though  he  has  retired  from  practice.  I 
am  anxious  for  his  opinion  as  well  as  Lowry's." 

"  You  really  wish  to  cure  me?  "  he  answered,  raising  his 
eyebrows. 

"  To  be  sure,"  I  replied.  "  I  can  have  no  other  object 
in  undertaking  your  case.  Do  you  imagine  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  me?  It  is  possible  that  your  death  would  be  a  greater 
benefit  to  the  world  than  your  life,  but  that  is  no  question 
for  me  to  decide.  Neither  is  it  for  me  to  consider  whether 
you  are  my  friend  or  my  enemy.  There  is  simply  a  life 
to  be  saved  if  possible ;  whose,  is  not  my  business.  Do 
you  understand  me?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said.  "  I  am  nothing  except  material 
for  you  to  exercise  your  craft  upon." 

"  Precisely,"  I  answered ;  "  that  and  nothing  more.  As 
some  writer  says, '  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  instinct  with  me.' 
I  attend  you  just  as  a  Newfoundland  dog  saves  a  drown- 
ing man." 

I  went  from  him  to  Hanover  Street,  where  I  found 
Captain  Carey,  who  met  me  with  the  embarrassment  and 


344 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


shamefacedness  of  a  young  girl.  I  had  not  yet  seen  them 
since  my  return  from  Normandy.  There  was  much  to 
tell  them,  though  they  already  knew  that  my  expedition 
had  failed,  and  that  it  was  still  doubtful  whether  Ellen 
Martineau  and  Olivia  were  the  same  person. 

Captain  Carey  walked  along  the  street  with  me  toward 
home.  He  had  taken  my  arm  in  his  most  confidential 
manner,  but  he  did  not  open  his  lips  till  we  reached  Brook 
Street. 

"  Martin,"  he  said,  "  I've  turned  it  over  in  my  own  mind, 
and  I  agree  with  Tardif.  Olivia  is  no  more  dead  than 
you  or  I.  We  shall  find  out  all  about  it  in  August,  if 
not  before.  Cheer  up,  my  boy!  I  tell  you  what:  Julia 
and  I  will  wait  till  we  are  sure  about  Olivia." 

"No,  no,"  I  interrupted;  "you  and  Julia  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it.     When  is  your  wedding  to  be?  " 

"  If  you  have  no  objection,"  he  answered — "  Have  you 
the  least  shadow  of  an  objection?  " 

"  Not  a  shadow  of  a  shadow,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  resumed  bashfully,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  August?  It  is  a  pleasant  month,  and  would  give  us 
time  for  that  trip  to  Switzerland,  you  know.  Not  any 
sooner,  because  of  your  poor  mother;  and  later,  if  you 
like  that  better." 

"  Not  a  day  later,"  I  said ;  "  my  father  has  been  married 
again  these  four  months." 

Yet  I  felt  a  little  sore  for  my  mother's  memory.  How 
quickly  it  was  fading  away  from  every  heart  but  mine! 
If  I  could  but  go  to  her  now,  and  pour  out  all  my  troubled 
thoughts  into  her  listening,  indulgent  ear!  Not  even  Oli- 
via herself,  who  could  never  be  to  me  more  than  she  was 
at  this  moment,  could  fill  her  place. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  345 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

FULFILLING    THE    PLEDGE. 

WE — that  is,  Dr.  Senior,  Lowry,  and  I — made  our  ex- 
amination of  Foster,  and  held  our  consultation, 
three  days  from  that  time. 

There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  he  was  suffering  from 
the  same  disease  as  that  which  had  been  the  death  of  my 
mother — a  disease  almost  invariably  fatal,  sooner  or  later. 
A  few  cases  of  cure,  under  most  favorable  circumstances, 
had  been  reported  during  the  last  half-century;  but  the 
chances  were  dead  against  Foster's  recovery.  In  all  prob- 
ability, a  long  and  painful  illness,  terminating  in  inevitable 
death,  lay  before  him.  In  the  opinion  of  my  two  senior 
physicians,  all  that  I  could  do  would  be  to  alleviate  the 
worst  pangs  of  it. 

His  case  haunted  me  day  and  night.  In  that  deep 
under-current  of  consciousness  which  lurks  beneath  our 
surface  sensations  and  impressions,  there  was  always  pres- 
ent the  image  of  Foster,  with  his  pale,  cynical  face,  and 
pitiless  eyes.  With  this  was  the  perpetual  remembrance 
that  a  subtle  malady,  beyond  the  reach  of  our  skill,  was 
slowly  eating  away  his  life.  The  man  I  abhorred;  but 
the  sufferer,  mysteriously  linked  with  the  memories  which 
clung  about  my  mother,  aroused  my  most  urgent,  instinc- 
tive compassion.  Only  once  before  had  I  watched  the 
conflict  between  disease  and  its  remedy  with  so-  intense 
an  interest.  It  was  a  day  or  two  after  our  consultation 
that  I  came  accidentally  upon  the  little  note-book  which 


346  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  had  kept  in  Guernsey — a  private  note-book,  accessible 
only  to  myself.  It  was  night;  Jack,  as  usual,  was  gone 
out,  and  I  was  alone.  I  turned  over  the  leaves  merely 
for  listless  want  of  occupation.  All  at  once  I  came  upon 
an  entry,  made  in  connection  with  my  mother's  illness, 
which  recalled  to  me  the  discovery  I  believed  I  had  made 
of  a  remedy  for  her  disease,  had  it  only  been  applied  in 
its  earlier  stages.  It  had  slipped  out  of  my  mind,  but  now 
my  memory  leaped  upon  it  with  irresistible  force. 

I  must  tell  the  whole  truth,  however  terrible  and  hu- 
miliating it  may  be.  Whether  I  had  been  true  or  false  to 
myself  up  to  that  moment  I  cannot  say.  I  had  taken 
upon  myself  the  care,  and,  if  possible,  the  cure  of  this 
man,  who  was  my  enemy,  if  I  had  an  enemy  in  the  world. 
His  life  and  mine  could  not  run  parallel  without  great 
grief  and  hurt  to  me,  and  to  one  dearer  than  myself.  Now 
that  a  better  chance  was  thrust  upon  me  in  his  favor,  I 
shrank  from  seizing  it  with  unutterable  reluctance.  I 
turned  heart-sick  at  the  thought  of  it.  I  tried  my  utmost 
to  shake  off  the  grip  of  my  memory.  Was  it  possible  that, 
in  the  core  of  my  heart,  I  wished  this  man  to  die? 

Yes,  I  wished  him  to  die.  Conscience  flashed  the  an- 
swer across  the  inner  depths  of  my  soul,  as  a  glare  of 
lightning  over  the  sharp  crags  and  cruel  waves  of  our  island 
in  a  midnight  storm.  I  saw  with  terrible  distinctness 
that  there  had  been  lurking  within  a  sure  sense  of  satis- 
faction in  the  certainty  that  he  must  die.  I  had  suspected 
nothing  of  it  till  that  moment.  When  I  told  him  it  was 
the  instinct  of  a  physician  to  save  his  patient,  I  spoke  the 
truth.  But  I  found  something  within  me  deeper  than  in- 
stinct, that  was  waiting  and  watching  for  the  fatal  issue  of 
his  malady,  with  a  tranquil  security  so  profound,  that  it 
had  never  stirred  the  surface  of  my  consciousness,  or  lifted 
up  its  ghostly  face  to  the  light  of  conscience. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  347 

I  took  up  my  note  book,  and  went  away  to  my  room, 
lest  Jack  should  come  in  suddenly,  and  read  my  secret  on 
my  face.  I  thrust  the  book  into  a  drawer  in  my  desk, 
and  locked  it  away,  out  of  my  sight.  What  need  had  I 
to  trouble  myself  with  it  or  its  contents  ?  I  found  a  book, 
one  of  Charles  Dickens'  most  amusing  stories,  and  set 
myself  resolutely  to  read  it;  laughing  aloud  at  its  drolle- 
ries, and  reading  faster  and  faster;  while  all  the  time 
thoughts  came  crowding  into  my  mind  of  my  mother's 
pale,  worn  face,  and  the  pains  she  suffered,  and  the  rem- 
edy found  out  too  late.  These  images  grew  so  strong  at 
last  that  my  eyes  ran  over  the  sentences  mechanically, 
but  my  brain  refused  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  them.  I 
threw  the  book  from  me ;  and  leaning  my  head  on  my 
hands,  I  let  all  the  waves  of  that  sorrowful  memory  flow 
over  me. 

How  strong  they  were !  how  persistent !  I  could  hear 
the  tones  of  her  languid  voice,  and  see  the  light  lingering 
to  the  last  in  her  dim  eyes,  whenever  they  met  mine.  A 
shudder  crept  through  me  as  I  recollected  how  she  trav- 
elled that  dolorous  road,  slowly,  day  by  day,  down  to  the 
grave.  Other  feet  were  beginning  to  tread  the  same  pain- 
ful journey;  but  there  was  yet  time  to  stay  them,  and  the 
power  to  do  it  was  entrusted  to  me.  What  was  I  to  do 
with  my  power? 

It  seemed  cruel  that  this  power  should  come  to  me  from 
my  mother's  death.  If  she  were  living  still,  or  if  she  had 
died  from  any  other  cause,  the  discovery  of  this  remedy 
would  never  have  been  made  by  me.  And  I  was  to  take 
it  as  a  sort  of  miraculous  gift,  purchased  by  her  pangs, 
and  bestow  it  upon  the  only  man  I  hated.  For  I  hated 
hirn;  I  said  so  to  myself,  muttering  the  words  between 
my  teeth. 

What  was  the  worth  of  his  life,  that  I  should  ransom  it 


348  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

by  such  a  sacrifice?  A  mean,  selfish,  dissipated  life;  a 
life  that  would  be  Olivia's  curse  as  long  as  it  lasted.  For 
an  instant  a  vision  stood  out  clear  before  me,  and  made 
my  heart  beat  fast,  of  Olivia  free,  as  she  must  be  in  the 
space  of  a  few  months,  should  I  leave  the  disease  to  take 
its  course ;  free  and  happy,  disenthralled  from  the  most 
galling  of  all  bondage.  Could  I  not  win  her  then?  She 
knew  already  that  I  loved  her;  would  she  not  soon  learn 
to  love  me  in  return? 

If  Olivia  were  living,  what  an  irreparable  injury  it  would 
be  to  her  for  this  man  to  recover! 

That  seemed  to  settle  the  question.  I  could  not  be 
the  one  to  doom  her  to  a  continuation  of  the  misery  she 
was  enduring.  It  was  irrational  and  over-scrupulous  of 
my  conscience  to  demand  such  a  thing  from  me.  I  would 
use  all  the  means  practised  in  the  ordinary  course  of  treat- 
ment to  render  the  recovery  of  my  patient  possible,  and 
so  fulfil  my  duty.  I  would  carefully  follow  all  Dr.  Senior's 
suggestions.  He  was  an  experienced  and  very  skilful 
physician ;  I  could  not  do  better  than  submit  my  judg- 
ment to  his. 

Besides,  how  did  I  know  that  this  fancied  discovery  of 
mine  was  of  the  least  value?  I  had  never  had  a  chance 
of  making  experiment  of  it,  and  no  doubt  it  was  an  idle 
chimera  of  my  brain,  when  it  was  overwrought  by  anxiety 
for  my  mother's  sake.  I  had  not  hitherto  thought  enough 
of  it  to  ask  the  opinion  of  any  of  my  medical  friends  and 
colleagues.  Why  should  I  attach  any  importance  to  it 
now?  Let  it  rest.  Not  a  soul  knew  of  it  but  myself.  I 
had  a  perfect  right  to  keep  or  destroy  my  own  notes. 
Suppose  I  destroyed  that  one  at  once. 

I  unlocked  the  desk,  and  took  out  my  book  again.  The 
leaf  on  which  these  special  notes  were  written  was  already 
loose,  and  might  have  been  easily  lost  at  any  time,   I 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  349 

thought.  I  burned  it  by  the  flame  of  the  gas,  and  threw 
the  brown  ashes  into  the  grate.  For  a  few  minutes  I  felt 
elated,  as  if  set  free  from  an  oppressive  burden ;  and  I 
returned  to  the  story  I  had  been  reading,  and  laughed 
more  heartily  than  before  at  the  grotesque  turn  of  the  in- 
cidents. But  before  long  the  tormenting  question  came 
up  again.  The  notes  were  not  lost.  They  seemed  now 
to  be  burned  in  upon  my  brain. 

The  power  has  been  put  into  your  hands  to  save  life, 
said  my  conscience,  and  you  are  resolving  to  let  it  perish. 
What  have  you  to  do  with  the  fact  that  the  nature  is 
mean,  selfish,  cruel?  It  is  the  physical  life  simply  that 
you  have  to  deal  with.  What  is  beyond  that  rests  in  the 
hands  of  God.  What  He  is  about  to  do  with  this  soul  is 
no  question  for  you.  Your  office  pledges  you  to  cure  him 
if  you  can,  and  the  fulfilment  of  this  duty  is  required  of 
you.     If  you  let  this  man  die  you  are  a  murderer. 

But,  I  said  in  answer  to  myself,  consider  what  trivial 
chances  the  whole  thing  has  hung  upon.  Besides  the  ac- 
cident that  this  was  my  mother's  malady,  there  was  the 
chance  of  Lovvry  not  being  called  from  home.  The  man 
was  his  patient,  not  mine.  After  that  there  was  the 
chance  of  Jack  going  to  see  him,  instead  of  me ;  or  of  him 
refusing  my  attendance.  If  the  chain  had  broken  at  any 
one  of  these  links,  no  responsibility  could  have  fallen  upon 
me.  He  would  have  died,  and  all  the  good  results  of  his 
death  would  have  followed  naturally.     Let  it  rest  at  that. 

But  it  could  not  rest  at  that.  I  fought  a  battle  with 
myself  all  through  the  quiet  night,  in  silence  and  motion- 
less, lest  Jack  should  become  aware  that  I  was  not  sleep- 
ing. How  should  I  ever  face  him,  or  grasp  his  hearty 
hand  again,  with  such  a  secret  weight  upon  my  soul?  Yet 
how  could  I  resolve  to  save  Foster  at  the  cost  of  dooming 
Olivia  to  a  life-long  bondage  should  he  discover  where 


35° 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


she  was,  or  to  lifelong  poverty  should  she  remain  con- 
cealed? If  I  were  only  sure  that  she  was  alive!  But  if 
she  were  dead — why,  then  all  motive  for  keeping  back 
this  chance  of  saving  him  would  be  taken  away.  It  was 
for  her  sake  merely  that  I  hesitated. 

For  her  sake,  but  for  my  own  as  well,  said  my  con- 
science ;  for  the  subtle  hope,  which  had  taken  deeper  root 
day  by  day,  that  by-and-by  the  only  obstacle  between  us 
would  be  removed.  Suppose  then  that  he  was  dead,  and 
Olivia  was  free  to  love  me,  to  become  my  wife.  Would 
not  her  very  closeness  to  me  be  a  reproving  presence  for- 
ever at  my  side?  Could  I  ever  recall  the  days  before  our 
marriage,  as  men  recall  them  when  they  are  growing  gray 
and  wrinkled,  as  a  happy  golden  time?  Would  there  not 
always  be  a  haunting  sense  of  perfidy,  and  disloyalty  to 
duty,  standing  between  me  and  her  clear  truth  and  single- 
ness of  heart?  There  could  be  no  happiness  for  me,  even 
with  Olivia  my  cherished  and  honored  wife,  if  I  had  this 
weight  and  cloud  resting  upon  my  conscience. 

The  morning  dawned  before  I  could  decide.  The  de- 
cision, when  made,  brought  no  feeling  of  relief  or  triumph 
to  me.  As  soon  as  it  was  probable  that  Dr.  Senior  could 
see  me,  I  was  at  his  house  at  Fulham ;  and  in  rapid,  al- 
most incoherent  words  laid  what  I  believed  to  be  my  im- 
portant discovery  before  him.  He  sat  thinking  for  some 
time,  running  over  in  his  own  mind  such  cases  as  had 
come  under  his  own  observation.  After  a  while  a  gleam  of 
pleasure  passed  over  his  face,  and  his  eyes  brightened  as 
he  looked  at  me. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Martin,"  he  said,  "though  I  wish 
Jack  had  hit  upon  this.  I  believe  it  will  prove  a  real 
benefit  to  our  science.  Let  me  turn  it  over  a  little  longer, 
and  consult  some  of  my  colleagues  about  it.  But  I  think 
you  are  right.     You  are  about  to  try  it  on  poor  Foster?  " 


THE  DOCTORS  DILEMMA.  351 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  with  a  chilly  sensation  in  my  veins, 
the  natural  reaction  upon  the  excitement  of  the  past 
night. 

"  It  can  do  him  no  harm,"  he  said,  "and  in  my  opinion 
it  will  prolong  his  life  to  old  age,  if  he  is  careful  of  him- 
self. I  will  write  a  paper  on  the  subject  for  the  Lancet,  if 
you  will  allow  me." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  I  said  sadly. 

The  old  physician  regarded  me  for  a  minute  with  his 
keen  eyes,  which  had  looked  through  the  window  of  dis- 
ease into  many  a  human  soul.  I  shrank  from  the  scrutiny, 
but  I  need  not  have  done  so.  He  grasped  my  hand 
firmly  and  closely  in  his  own. 

"God  bless  you,  Martin!"  he  said,  "God  bless  you!" 


352  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


A    DEED    OF     SEPARATION. 


THAT  keen,  benevolent  glance  of  Dr.  Senior's  was  like 
a  gleam  of  sunlight  piercing  through  the  deepest  re- 
cesses of  my  troubled  spirit.  I  felt  that  I  was  no  longer 
fighting  my  fight  out  alone.  A  friendly  eye  was  upon  me ; 
a  friendly  voice  was  cheering  me  on.  "  The  dead  shall 
look  me  through  and  through,1'  says  Tennyson.  For  my 
part  I  should  wish  for  a  good,  wise  man  to  look  me 
through  and  through;  feel  the  pulse  of  my  soul  from  time 
to  time,  when  it  was  ailing,  and  detect  what  was  there 
contrary  to  reason  and  to  right.  Dr.  Senior's  hearty 
"God    bless  you!  "  brought  strength  and  blessing  with  it. 

I  went  straight  from  Fulham  to  Bellringer  Street.  A 
healthy  impulse  to  fulfil  all  my  duty,  however  difficult,  was 
in  its  first  fervid  moment  of  action.  Nevertheless  there 
was  a  subtle  hope  within  me  founded  upon  one  chance 
that  was  left — it  was  just  possible  that  Foster  might  refuse 
to  be  made  the  subject  of  an  experiment;  for  an  experi- 
ment it  was. 

I  found  him  not  yet  out  of  bed.  Mrs.  Foster  was  busy 
at  her  task  of  engrossing  in  the  sitting-room — a  task  she 
performed  so  well  that  I  could  not  believe  but  that  she 
had  been  long  accustomed  to  it.  I  followed  her  to  Fos- 
ter's bed-room,  a  small  close  attic  at  the  back,  with  a 
cheering  view  of  chimneys  and  the  roofs  of  houses.  There 
was  no  means  of  ventilation,  except  by  opening  a  window 
near  the  head  of  the  bed,  when  the  draught  of  cold  air 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


353 


would  blow  full  upon  him.  He  looked  exceedingly  worn 
and  wan.  The  doubt  crossed  me,  whether  the  disease 
had  not  made  more  progress  than  we  supposed.  His  face 
fell  as  he  saw  the  expression  upon  mine. 

"Worse,  eh?"  he  said;  "don't  say  I  am  worse."  I 
sat  down  beside  him,  and  told  him  that  I  proposed  to  try, 
if  he  gave  his  consent,  a  mode  of  treatment  which  had 
never  been  practised  before.  His  eye,  keen  and  sharp  as 
that  of  a  lynx,  seemed  to  read  my  thoughts  as  Dr.  Senior's 
had  done. 

"  Martin  Dobree,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  different  from 
his  ordinary  caustic  that  it  almost  startled  me,  "  I  can 
trust  you.  I  put  myself  with  implicit  confidence  into 
your  hands." 

The  last  chance — dare  I  say  the  last  hope? — was  gone. 
I  stood  pledged  on  my  honor  as  a  physician,  to  employ 
this  discovery,  which  had  been  laid  open  to  me  by  my 
mother's  fatal  illness,  for  the  benefit  of  the  man  whose  life 
was  most  harmful  to  Olivia  and  myself.  I  felt  suffocated, 
stifled.  I  opened  the  window  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
leaned  through  it  to  catch  the  fresh  breath  of  the  outer  air. 

"I  must  tell  you,"  I  said,  when  I  drew  my  head  in 
again,  "  that  you  must  not  expect  to  regain  your  health 
and  strength  to  such  perfection  as  to  be  able  to  return  to 
your  old  dissipations.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to 
lead  a  regular,  quiet,  abstemious  life,  avoiding  all  excite- 
ment. Nine  months  out  of  the  twelve  at  least,  if  not  the 
whole  year,  you  must  spend  in  the  country  for  the  sake  of 
fresh  air.  A  life  in  town  would  kill  you  in  six  months. 
But  if  you  are  careful  of  yourself  you  may  live  to  sixty 
or  seventy." 

"Life  at  any  price!  "  he  answered,  in  his  old  accents, 
"  yet  you  put  it  in  a  dreary  light  before  me.  It  hardly 
seems  worth  while  to  buy  such  an  existence,  especially 
23 


354  TIIE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

with  that  wife  of  mine  down-stairs,  who  cannot  endure  the 
country,  and  is  only  a  companion  for  a  town  life.  Now 
if  it  had  been  Olivia — you  could  imagine  life  in  the 
country  endurable  with  Olivia?  " 

What  could  I  answer  to  such  a  question,  which  ran 
through  me  like  an  electric  shock?  A  brilliant  phantas- 
magoria flashed  across  my  brain — a  house  in  Guernsey 
with  Olivia  in  it — sunshine — flowers — the  singing  of  birds 
— the  music  of  the  sea  —  the  pure,  exhilarating  atmo- 
sphere. It  had  vanished  into  a  dead  blank  before  I 
opened  my  mouth,  though  probably  a  moment's  silence 
had  not  intervened.  Foster's  lips  were  curled  into  a 
mocking  smile. 

"  There  would  be  more  chance  for  you  now,"  I  said, 
"  if  you  could  have  better  air  than  this." 

"How  can  I?"  he  asked. 

"  Be  frank  with  me,"  I  answered,  *  and  tell  me  what  your 
means  are.  It  would  be  worth  your  while  to  spend  your 
last  farthing  upon  this  chance." 

"Is  it  not  enough  to  make  a  man  mad,"  he  said,  "to 
know  there  are  thousands  lying  in  the  Bank  in  his  wife's 
name,  and  he  cannot  touch  a  penny  of  it?  It  is  life  itself 
to  me ;  yet  I  may  die  like  a  dog  in  this  hole  for  the  want 
of  it.     My  death  will  lie  at  Olivia's  door,  curse  her!  " 

He  fell  back  upon  his  pillows,  with  a  groan  as  heavy 
and  deep  as  ever  came  from  the  heart  of  a  wretch  perish- 
ing from  sheer  want.  I  could  not  choose  but  feel  some 
pity  for  him  ;  but  this  was  an  opportunity  I  must  not  miss. 

"It  is  of  no  use  to  curse  her,"  I  said;  "come  Foster, 
let  us  talk  over  this  matter  quietly  and  reasonably.  If 
Oliva  be  alive,  as  I  cannot  help  hoping  she  is,  your  wisest 
course  would  be  to  come  to  some  mutual  agreement, 
which  would  release  you  both  from  your  present  difficul- 
ties j  for  you  must  recollect  she  is  as  penniless  as  yourself. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  355 

Let  me  speak  to  you  as  if  I  were  her  brother.  Of  this 
one  thing  you  may  be  quite  certain,  she  will  never  con- 
sent to  return  to  you;  and  in  that  I  will  aid  her  to  the 
utmost  of  my  power.  But  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  have  a  good  share  of  the  property,  which  she 
would  gladly  relinquish  on  condition  that  you  left  her 
alone.  Now  just  listen  carefully.  I  think  there  would  be 
small  difficulty,  if  we  set  about  it,  mark  you,  in  proving 
that  you  were  guilty  against  her  with  your  present  wife ; 
and  in  that  case  she  could  claim  a  divorce  absolutely,  and 
her  property  would  remain  her  own.  Your  second  mar- 
riage with  the  same  person  would  set  her  free  from  you 
altogether." 

"  You  could  prove  nothing,"  he  replied  fiercely,  "  and 
my  second  marriage  is  covered  by  the  documents  I  could 
produce." 

"Which  are  forged,"  I  said  calmly;  "we  will  find  out 
by  whom.  You  are  in  a  net  of  your  own  making.  But 
we  do  not  wish  to  push  this  question  to  a  legal  issue. 
Let  us  come  to  some  arrangement.  Olivia  will  consent 
to  any  terms  I  agree  to." 

Unconsciously  I  was  speaking  as  if  I  knew  where  Olivia 
was,  and  could  communicate  with  her  when  I  chose. ^  I 
was  merely  anticipating  the  time  when  Tardif  felt  sure  of 
hearing  from  her.  Foster  lay  still,  watching  me  with  his 
cold,  keen  eyes. 

"  If  those  letters  are  forged,"  he  said  uneasily,  "  it  is 
Olivia  who  has  forged  them.  But  I  must  consult  my  law- 
yers.    I  will  let  you  know  the  result  in  a  few  days.'' 

But  the  same  evening  I  received  a  note,  desiring  me  to 
go  and  see  him  immediately.  I  was  myself  in  a  fever  of 
impatience,  and  glad  at  the  prospect  of  any  settlement  of 
this  subject,  in  the  hope  of  setting  Olivia  free,  as  far  as 
she  could  be  free  during  his  lifetime.     He  was  looking 


356  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

brighter  and  better  than  in  the  morning,  and  an  odd  smile 
played  now  and  then  about  his  face  as  he  talked  to  me, 
after  having  desired  Mrs.  Foster  to  leave  us  alone  to- 
gether. 

"Mark!  "  he  said,  "I  have  not  the  slightest  reason  to 
doubt  Olivia's  death,  except  your  own  opinion  to  the 
contrary,  which  is  founded  upon  reasons  of  which  I  know 
nothing.  But  acting  on  the  supposition  that  she  may  be 
still  alive,  I  am  quite  willing  to  enter  into  negotiations 
with  her.     I  suppose  it  must  be  through  you." 

"It  must,"  I  answered,  "and  it  cannot  be  at  present. 
You  will  have  to  wait  for  some  months,  perhaps,  while  I 
pursue  my  search  for  her.  I  do  not  know  where  she  is 
any  more  than  you  do." 

A  vivid  gleam  crossed  his  face  at  these  words,  but 
whether  of  incredibility  or  satisfaction  I  could  not  tell. 

"But  suppose  I  die  in  the  mean  time?"  he  objected. 

That  objection  was  a  fair  and  obvious  one.  His 
malady  would  not  pause  in  its  insidious  attack  while  I 
was  seeking  Olivia.  I  deliberated  for  a  few  minutes, 
endeavoring  to  look  at  a  scheme  which  presented  itself  to 
me  from  every  point  of  view. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  might  not  leave  you  in  your  pres- 
ent position,"  I  said  at  last;  "it  may  be  I  am  acting 
from  an  overstrained  sense  of  duty.  But  if  you  will  give 
me  a  formal  deed  protecting  her  from  yourself,  I  am  will- 
ing to  advance  the  funds  necessary  to  remove  you  to 
purer  air,  and  more  open  quarters  than  these.  A  deed 
of  separation,  which  both  of  you  must  sign,  can  be  drawn 
up,  and  receive  your  signature.  There  will  be  no  doubt 
as  to  getting  hers,  when  we  find  her.  But  that  may  be 
some  months  hence,  as  I  said.     Still  I  will  run  the  risk." 

"  For  her  sake?  "  he  said,  with  a  sneer. 

"  For  her  sake,  simply,"  I  answered ;  "  I  will  employ  a 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  357 

lawyer  to  draw  up  the  deed,  and  as  soon  as  you  sign  it  I 
will  advance  the  money  you  require.  My  treatment  of 
your  disease  I  shall  begin  at  once ;  that  falls  under  my 
duty  as  your  doctor;  but  I  warn  you  that  fresh  air  and 
freedom  from  agitation  are  almost,  if  not  positively,  es- 
sential to  its  success.  The  sooner  you  secure  these  for 
yourself,  the  better  your  chance." 

Some  further  conversation  passed  between  us,  as  to  the 
stipulations  to  be  insisted  upon,  and  the  division  of  the 
yearly  income  from  Olivia's  property,  for  I  would  not 
agree  to  her  alienating  any  portion  of  it.  Foster  wished 
to  drive  a  hard  bargain,  still  with  that  odd  smile  on  his 
face;  and  it  was  after  much  discussion  that  we  came  to 
an  agreement. 

I  had  the  deed  drawn  up  by  a  lawyer,  who  warned  me 
that  if  Foster  sued  for  a  restitution  of  his  rights  they 
would  be  enforced.  But  I  hoped  that  when  Olivia  was 
found  she  would  have  some  evidence  in  her  own  favor, 
Which  would  deter  him  from  carrying  the  case  into  court. 
The  deed  was  signed  by  Foster,  and  left  in  my  charge  till 
Olivia's  signature  could  be  obtained. 

As  soon  as  the  deed  was  signed,  I  had  my  patient  re- 
moved from  Bellringer  Street  to  some  apartments  in  Ful- 
ham,  near  to  Dr.  Senior,  whose  interest  in  the  case  was 
now  almost  equal  to  my  own.  Here,  if  I  could  not  visit 
him  every  day,  Dr.  Senior  did,  while  his  great  professional 
skill  enabled  him  to  detect  symptoms  which  might  have 
escaped  my  less  experienced  eye.  Never  had  any  sufferer, 
under  the  highest  and  wealthiest  ranks,  greater  care  and 
science  expended  upon  him  than  Richard  Foster. 

The  progress  of  his  recovery  was  slow,  but  it  was  sure. 
I  felt  that  it  would  be  so  from  the  first.  Day  by  day  I 
watched  the  pallid  hue  of  sickness  upon  his  face  changing 
into  a  mere  natural  tone.     I  saw  his  strength  coming  back 


358  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

by  slight  but  steady  degrees.  The  malady  was  forced  to 
retreat  into  its  most  hidden  citadel,  where  it  would  dwell 
as  a  prisoner,  not  destroy  as  a  poison,  for  many  years  to 
come,  if  Foster  would  yield  himself  to  the  regime  of  life 
we  prescribed.  But  the  malady  lurked  there,  ready  to 
break  out  again  openly,  if  its  dungeon-door  were  set  ajar. 
I  had  given  life  to  him,  but  it  was  his  part  to  hold  it  fast. 
There  was  no  triumph  to  me  in  this,  as  there  would 
have  been  had  my  patient  been  any  one  else.  The  cure 
aroifeed  much  interest  among  my  colleagues,  and  made 
my  name  more  known.  But  what  was  that  to  me?  As 
long  as  this  man  lived,  Olivia  was  doomed  to  a  lonely  and 
friendless  life.  I  tried  to  look  into  the  future  for  her,  and 
saw  it  stretch  out  into  long,  dreary  years.  I  wondered 
where  she  would  find  a  home.  Could  I  persuade  Johanna 
to  receive  her  into  her  pleasant  dwelling,  which  would  be- 
come so  lonely  to  her  when  Captain  Carey  had  moved 
into  Julia's  house  in  St.  Peter-port?  That  was  the  best 
plan  I  could  form. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  359 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 

A    FRIENDLY    CABMAN. 

JULIA'S  marriage  arrangements  were  going  on  speed- 
ily. There  was  something  ironical  to  me  in  the 
chance  that  made  me  so  often  the  witness  of  them.  We 
were  so  merely  cousins  again,  that  she  discussed  her  pur- 
chases, and  displayed  them  before  me,  as  if  there  had 
never  been  any  notion  between  us  of  keeping  house  to- 
gether. Once  more  I  assisted  in  the  choice  of  a  wedding- 
dress,  for  the  one  made  a  year  before  was  said  to  be  yel- 
low and  old-fashioned.  But  this  time  Julia  did  not  insist 
upon  having  white  satin.  A  dainty  tint  of  gray  was  con- 
sidered more  suitable,  either  to  her  own  complexion  or 
the  age  of  the  bridegroom.  Captain  Carey  enjoyed  the 
purchase  with  the  rapture  I  had  failed  to  experience. 

The  wedding  was  fixed  to  take  place  the  last  week  in 
July,  a  fortnight  earlier  than  the  time  proposed;  it  was 
also  a  fortnight  earlier  than  the  time  I  was  looking  for- 
ward to  most  anxiously,  when,  if  ever,  news  would  reach 
Tardif  from  Olivia.  All  my  plans  were  most  carefully 
made,  in  the  event  of  her  sending  word  where  she  was. 
The  deed  of  separation,  signed  by  Foster,  was  preserved 
by  me  most  cautiously,  for  I  had  a  sort  of  haunting  dread 
that  Mrs.  Foster  would  endeavor  to  get  possession  of  it. 
She  was  eminently  sulky,  and  had  been  so  ever  since  the 
signing  of  the  deed.  Now  that  Foster  was  very  near  con- 
valescence, they  might  be  trying  some  stratagem  to  re- 


360  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

cover  it.  But  our  servants  were  trustworthy,  and  t-he  deed 
lay  safe  in  the  drawer  of  my  desk. 

At  last  Dr.  Senior  agreed  with  me  that  Foster  was  suffi- 
ciently advanced  on  the  road  to  recovery  to  be  removed 
from  Fulham  to  the  better  air  of  the  south  coast.  The 
month  of  May  had  been  hotter  than  usual,  and  June  was 
sultry.  It  was  evidently  to  our  pat'ient's  advantage  to  ex- 
change the  atmosphere  of  London  for  that  of  the  sea- 
shore, even  though  he  had  to  dispense  with  our  watchful 
attendance.  In  fact  he  could  not  very  well  fall  back  now, 
with  common  prudence  and  self-denial.  We  impressed 
upon  him  the  urgent  necessity  of  these  virtues,  and  re- 
quired Mrs.  Foster  to  write  us  fully,  three  times  a  week, 
every  variation  she  might  observe  in  his  health.  After 
that  we  started  them  off  to  a  quiet  village  in  Sussex.  I 
breathed  more  freely  when  they  were  out  of  my  daily 
sphere  of  duty. 

But  before  they  went  a  hint  of  treachery  reached  me, 
which  put  me  doubly  on  my  guard.  One  morning,  when 
Jack  and  I  were  at  breakfast,  each  deep  in  our  papers, 
with  an  occasional  comment  to  one  another  on  their  con- 
tents, Simmons,  the  cabby,  was  announced,  as  asking  to 
speak  to  one  or  both  of  us  immediately.  He  was  a  fa- 
vorite with  Jack,  who  bade  the  servant  show  him  in ;  and 
Simmons  appeared,  stroking  his  hat  round  and  round 
with  his  hand,  as  if  hardly  knowing  what  to  do  with  his 
limbs  off  the  box. 

"  Nothing  amiss  with  your  wife  or  the  brats,  I  hope?  " 
said  Jack. 

"  No,  Doctor  John,  no,"  he  answered,  "  there  ain't  any- 
thing amiss  with  them,  except  being  too  many  of  'em, 
p'raps,  and  my  old  woman  won't  own  to  that.  But  there's 
something  in  the  wind  as  concerns  Dr.  Dobry,  so  I 
thought  I'd  better  come  and  gi-ve  you  a  hint  of  it." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  361 

"  Very  good,  Simmons,"  said  Jack. 

"  You  recollect  taking  my  cab  to  Gray's  Inn  Road 
about  this  time  last  year,  when  I  showed  up  so  green, 
don't  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  be  sure,"  I  said,  throwing  down  my  paper,  and 
listening  eagerly. 

"  Well,  doctors,"  he  continued,  addressing  us  both, 
"  the  very  last  Monday  as  ever  was,  a  lady  walks  slowly 
along  the  stand,  eyeing  us  all  very  hard,  but  taking  no 
heed  to  any  of  'em  till  she  catches  sight  of  me.  That's 
not  a  uncommon  event,  doctors.  My  wife  says  there's 
something  about  me  as  gives  confidence  to  her  sek.  Any- 
how, so  it  is,  and  I  can't  gainsay  it.  The  lady  comes 
along  very  slowly — she  looks  hard  at  me — she  nods  her 
head,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  You,  and  your  cab,  and  your 
horse  are  what  I'm  on  the  look-out  for ;'  and  I  gets  down, 
opens  the  door  and  sees  her  in  quite  comfortable.  Says 
she,  '  Drive  me  to  Messrs.  Scott  and  Brown,  in  Gray's  Inn 
Road/  " 

"No!"  I  ejaculated. 

"  Yes,  doctors,"  replied  Simmons.  *  Drive  me,'  she 
says,  '  to  Messrs.  Scott  and  Brown,  Gray's  Inn  Road.'  Of 
course  I  knew  the  name  again ;  I  was  vexed  enough  the 
last  time  I  were  there,  at  showing  myself  so  green.  I 
looks  hard  at  her.  A  very  fine  make  of  a  woman,  with 
hair  and  eyes  as  black  as  coals,  and  a  impudent  look  on 
her  face  somehow.  I  turned  it  over  and  over  again  in 
my  head,  driving  her  there — could  there  be  any  reason  in 
it?  or  had  it  anything  to  do  with  last  time?  and  cetera. 
She  told  me  to  wait  for  her  in  the  street ;  and  directly  after 
she  goes  in,  there  comes  down  the  gent  I  had  seen  before, 
with  a  pen  behind  his  ear.  He  looks  very  hard  at  me, 
and  me  at  him.  Says  he,  '  I  think  I  have  seen  your  face 
before,  my  man.'     Very  civil,  as  civil  as  a  orange,  as  folks 


362  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

say.  'I  think  you  have,'  I  says.  'Could  you  step  up- 
stairs for  a  minute  or  two?  '  says  he,  very  polite ;  *  I'll  find 
a  boy  to  take  charge  of  your  horse.'  And  he  slips  a  half- 
crown  into  my  hand,  quite  pleasant." 

"  So  you  went  in,  of  course?  "  said  Jack. 

"  Doctors,"  he  answered  solemnly.  "  I  did  go  in. 
There's  nothing  to  be  said  against  that.  The  lady  is  sitting 
in  an  ornce  up-stairs,  talking  to  another  gent,  with  hair 
and  eyes  like  hers,  as  black  as  coals,  and  the  same  look 
of  brass  on  his  face.  All  three  of  'em  looked  a  little 
under  the  weather.  '  What's  your  name,  my  man?  '  asked 
the  black  gent.  '  Walker,'  I  says.  '  And  where  do  you 
live?'  he  says,  taking  me  serious.  'In  Queer  Street,'  I 
says,  with  a  little  wink  to  show  'em  I  were  up  to  a  trick 
or  two.  They  all  three  larfed  a  little  among  themselves, 
but  not  in  a  pleasant  sort  of  way.  Then  the  gent  begins 
again.  '  My  good  fellow,'  he  says,  '  we  want  you  to  give 
us  a  little  information  that  'ud  be  of  use  to  us,  and  we 
are  willing  to  pay  you  handsome  for  it.  It  can't  do  you 
any  harm,  nor  nobody  else,  for  it's  only  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness. You're  not  above  taking  ten  shillings  for  a  bit  of 
useful  information?'  'Not  by  no  manner  of  means,'  I 
says." 

"  Go  on,"  I  said  impatiently,  as  Simmons  paused  to 
look  as  hard  at  us  as  he  had  done  at  these  people. 

"  Jest  so,  doctors,"  he  continued,  "  but  this  time  I  were 
minding  my  P's  and  Q's.  '  You  know  Dr.  Senior,  of 
Brook  Street?  '  he  says.  '  The  old  doctor?  '  I  says ;  '  he's 
retired  out  of  town.'  'No,'  he  says,  'nor  the  young  doc- 
tor neither;  but  there's  another  of  'em,  isn't  there?' 
'  Dr.  Dobry?  '  I  says.  '  Yes/  he  says,  '  he  often  takes  your 
cab,  my  friend?'  'First  one  and  then  the  other,'  I  says, 
'  sometimes  Dr.  John  and  sometimes  Dr.  Dobry.  They're 
as    thick    as    brothers,   and    thicker.'     '  Good   friends    of 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  363 

yours?1  he  says.  'Well,'  says  I,  'they  take  my  cab  when 
they  can  have  it;  but  there's  not  much  friendship,  as  I 
see,  in  that.  It's  the  best  cab  and  horse  on  the  stand, 
though  I  say  it,  as  shouldn't.  Dr.  John's  pretty  fair,  but 
the  other's  no  great  favorite  of  mine.'    'Ah! '  he  says." 

Simmons'  face  was  illumined  with  delight,  and  he 
winked  sportively  at  us. 

"  It  were  all  flummery,  doctors,"  he  said ;  "  I  don't 
deny ;  as  Dr.  John  is  a  older  friend,  and  a  older  favorite ; 
but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I  jest  see  them  setting 
a  trap,  and  I  wanted  to  have  a  finger  in  it.  '  Ah ! '  he 
says,  '  all  we  want  to  know,  but  we  do  want  to  know  that 
very  particular,  is  where  you  drive  Dr.  Dobry  to  the 
oftenest.  He's  going  to  borrow  money  from  us,  and  we'd 
like  to  find  out  something  about  his  habits;  specially 
where  he  spends  his  spare  time,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  understand.  You  know  where  he  goes  in  your  cab.' 
'  Of  course  I  do,'  I  says ;  '  I  drove  him  and  Dr.  John  here 
nigh  a  twelvemonth  ago.  The  other  gent  took  my  num- 
ber down,  and  knew  where  to  look  for  me  when  you 
wanted  me.  '  You're  a  clever  fellow,'  he  says.  '  So  my 
old  woman  thinks,'  I  says.  'And  you'd  be  glad  to  earn  a 
little  more  for  your  old  woman?'  he  says.  'Try  me,'  I 
says.  '  Well  then,'  says  he,  '  here's  a  offer  for  you.  If 
you'll  bring  us  word  where  he  spends  his  spare  time  we'll 
give  you  ten  shillings ;  and  if  it  turns  out  of  any  use  to 
us,  we'll  make  it  five  pound.'  '  Very  good,'  I  says. 
'YouVe  not  got  any  information  to  tell  us  at  once?'  he 
says.  '  Well,  no,'  I  says,  '  but  I'll  keep  my  eye  upon  him 
now.'  'Stop,'  he  says,  as  I  were  going  away;  'they  keep 
a  carriage,  of  course?'  'Of  course,'  I  says;  'what's  the 
good  of  a  doctor  that  hasn't  a  carriage  and  pair?'  'Do 
they  use  it  at  night?'  says  he.  'Not  often,'  says  I;  'they 
take  a  cab ;  mine  if  it's  on  the  stand.'     '  Very  good,'  he 


364  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

says;  'good  morning,  my  friend.'  So  I  come  away,  and 
drives  back  again  to  the  stand." 

"And  you  left  the  lady  there?  "  I  asked,  with  no  doubt 
in  my  mind  that  it  was  Mrs.  Foster. 

"  Yes,  doctor,"  he  answered,  "  talking  away  like  a  poll- 
parrot  with  the  black-haired  gent.  That  were  last  Mon- 
day; to-day's  Friday,  and  this  morning  there  comes  this 
bit  of  a  note  to  me  at  our  house  in  Dawson  Street.  So 
my  old  woman  says,  '  Jim,  you'd  better  go  and  show  it  to 
Dr.  John.'  That's  what's  brought  me  here  at  this  time, 
doctors." 

He  gave  the  note  into  Jack's  hands;  and  he,  after 
glancing  at  it,  passed  it  on  to  me.  The  contents  were 
simply  these  words:  "James  Simmons  is  requested  to  call 
at  No. — Gray's  Inn  Road,  at  6:30  Friday  evening."  The 
hand-writing  struck  me  as  one  I  had  seen  and  noticed  be- 
fore. I  scanned  it  more  closely  for  a  minute  or  two; 
then  a  glimmering  of  light  began  to  dawn  upon  my  mem- 
ory. Could  it  be?  I  felt  almost  sure  it  was.  In  another 
minute  I  was  persuaded  that  it  was  the  same  hand  as  that 
which  had  written  the  letter  announcing  Olivia's  death. 
Probably  if  I  could  see  the  penmanship  of  the  other  part- 
ner, I  should  find  it  to  be  identical  with  that  of  the  medi- 
cal certificate  which  had  accompanied  the  letter. 

"  Leave  this  note  with  me,  Simmons,"  I  said,  giving 
him  half-a-crown  in  exchange  for  it.  I  was  satisfied  that 
the  papers  had  been  forged,  but  not  with  Olivia's  conni- 
vance. Was  Foster  himself  a  party  to  it?  Or  had  Mrs. 
Foster  alone,  with  the  aid  of  these  friends  and  relatives  of 
hers,  plotted  and  carried  out  the  scheme,  leaving  him  in 
ignorance  and  doubt  like  my  own? 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  365 


CHAPTRER    XLVIII. 

julia's  wedding. 

BEFORE  the  Carey's  and  Julia  returned  to  Guernsey, 
Captain  Carey  came  to  see  me  one  evening,  at  our 
own  house  in  Brook  Street.  He  seemed  suffering  from 
some  embarrassment  and  shyness;  and  I  could  not  for  a 
long  time  lead  him  to  the  point  he  was  lingering  to  gain. 

"You  are  quite  reconciled  to  all  this,  Martin?"  he 
said,  stammering.     I  knew  very  well  what  he  meant. 

"  More  than  reconciled,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  heartily 
glad  of  it.     Julia  will  make  you  an  excellent  wife." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  said  simply,  "yet  it  makes  me 
nervous  a  little  at  times  to  think  I  may  be  standing  in 
your  light.  I  never  thought  what  it  was  coming  to  when 
I  tried  to  comfort  Julia  about  you,  or  I  would  have  left 
Johanna  to  do  it  all.  It  is  very  difficult  to  console  a  per- 
son without  seeming  very  fond  of  them ;  and  then  there's 
the  danger  of  them  growing  fond  Oi  you.  I  love  Julia 
now  with  all  my  heart;  but  I  did  not  begin  comforting 
her  with  that  view,  and  I  am  sure  you  exonerate  me, 
Martin?" 

"  Quite,  quite,"  I  said,  almost  laughing  at  his  contri- 
tion ;  "  I  should  never  have  married  Julia,  believe  me ; 
and  I  am  delighted  that  she  is  going  to  be  married,  es- 
pecially to  an  old  friend  like  you.  I  shall  make  your 
house  my  home." 

"  Do,  Martin,"  he  answered,  his  face  brightening ;  "  and 


366  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

now  I  am  come  to  ask  you  a  great  favor — a  favor  to  us 
all." 

"  I'll  do  it,  I  promise  that  beforehand,"  I  said. 

"  We  have  all  set  our  hearts  on  your  being  my  best 
man,"  he  replied — "  at  the  wedding,  you  know.  Johanna 
says  nothing  will  convince  the  Guernsey  people  that  we 
are  all  good  friends  except  that.  It  will  have  a  queer 
look,  but  if  you  are  there  everybody  will  be  satisfied  that 
you  do  not  blame  either  Julia  or  me.  I  know  it  will  be 
hard  for  you,  dear  Martin,  because  of  your  poor  mother, 
and  your  father  being  in  Guernsey  still ;  but  if  you  can 
conquer  that,  for  our  sakes,  you  would  make  us  every  one 
perfectly  happy." 

I  had  not  expected  them  to  ask  this ;  but  when  I  came  to 
think  of  it,  it  seemed  very  natural  and  reasonable.  There 
was  no  motive  strong  enough  to  make  me  refuse  to  go  to 
Julia's  wedding ;  so  I  arranged  to  be  with  them  the  last 
week  in  July. 

About  ten  days  before  going,  I  ran  down  to  the  little 
village  on  the  Sussex  coast  to  visit  Foster,  from  whom,  or 
from  his  wife,  I  had  received  a  letter  regularly  three  times 
a  week.  I  found  him  as  near  complete  health  as  he  could 
ever  expect  to  be,  and  I  told  him  so;  but  I  impressed 
upon  him  the  urgent  necessity  of  keeping  himself  quiet 
and  unexcited.  He  listened  with  that  cool,  taunting  sneer 
which  had  always  irritated  me. 

"  Ah !  you  doctors  are  like  mothers,,"  he  said,  "  who  try 
to  frighten  their  children  with  bogies.  A  doctor  is  a  good 
crutch  to  lean  upon  when  one  is  quite  lame,  but  I  shall 
be  glad  to  dispense  with  my  crutch  as  soon  as  my  lame- 
ness is  gone." 

"Very  good,"  I  replied;  "you  know  your  life  is  of  no 
value  to  me.     I  have  simply  done  my  duty  by  you." 

"  Your  mother,  Mrs.  Dobree,  wrote  to  me  this  week," 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  367 

he  remarked,  smiling  as  I  winced  at  the  utterance  of  that 
name ;  "  she  tells  me  there  is  to  be  a  grand  wedding  in 
Guernsey;  that  of  your  fiancee,  Julia  Dobree,  with  Captain 
Carey.     You  are  to  be  present,  so  she  says." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  revisit  your  native 
island,"  he  said,  "particularly  under  the  circumstances.'' 

I  took  no  notice  of  the  taunt.  My  conversation  with 
this  man  invariably  led  to  full  stops.  He  said  something 
to  which  silence  was  the  best  retort.  I  did  not  stay  long 
with  him,  for  the  train  by  which  I  was  to  return  passed 
through  the  village  in  less  than  an  hour  from  my  arrival. 

As  I  walked  down  the  little  street  I  turned  round  once 
by  a  sudden  impulse,  and  saw  Foster  gazing  after  me  with 
his  pale  face  and  glittering  eyes.  He  waved  his  hand  in 
farewell  to  me,  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him. 

Some  days  after  this  I  crossed  in  the  mail-steamer  to 
Guernsey,  on  a  Monday  night  as  the  wedding  was  to  take 
place  at  an  early  hour  on  Wednesday  morning,  in  time 
for  Captain  Carey  and  Julia  to  catch  the  boat  to  England. 
The  old  gray  town,  built  street  above  street  on  the  rock 
facing  the  sea,  rose  before  my  eyes,  bathed  in  the  morn- 
ing sunlight.  But  there  was  no  home  in  it  for  me  now. 
The  old  familiar  house  in  the  Grange  Road  was  already 
occupied  by  strangers.  I  did  not  even  know  where  I  was  to 
go.  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  staying  under  Julia's  roof, 
where  everything  would  remind  me  of  that  short  spell  of 
happiness  in  my  mother's  life,  when  she  was  preparing  it 
for  my  future  home.  Luckily,  before  the  steamer 
touched  the  pier,  I  caught  sight  of  Captain  Carey's  wel- 
come face  looking  out  for  my  appearance.  He  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  gangway,  as  I  crossed  over  it  with  my  port- 
manteau. 

"  Come  along,  Martin,"  he  said ;  "  you  are  to  come  with 


368  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

me  to  the  Vale,  as  my  groomsman,  you  know.  Are  all 
the  people  staring  at  us,  do  you  think?  I  daren't  look 
round.     Just  look  about  you  for  me,  my  boy."' 

"  They  are  staring  awfully,"  I  answered,  "  and  there  are 
scores  of  them  waiting  to  shake  hands  with  us." 

"Oh!  they  must  not,''  he  said  earnestly;  "look  as  if 
you  did  not  see  them,  Martin.  That's  the  worst  of  get- 
ting married;  yet  most  of  them  are  married  themselves, 
and  ought  to  know  better.  There's  the  dog-cart  waiting 
for  us  a  few  yards  off,  if  we  could  only  get  to  it.  I  have 
kept  my  face  seaward  ever  since  I  came  on  the  pier,  with 
my  collar  turned  up,  and  my  hat  over  my  eyes.  Are  you 
sure  they  see  who  we  are?  " 

"Sure!"  I  cried,  "why,  there's  Carey  Dobree,  and 
Dobree  Carey,  and  Broch  de  Jersey,  and  De  Jersey  le 
Cocq,  and  scores  of  others.  They  know  us  as  well  as 
their  own  brothers.  We  shall  have  to  shake  hands  with 
every  one  of  them." 

"Why  didn't  you  come  in  disguise?"  asked  Captain 
Carey,  reproachfully;  but  before  I  could  answer  I  was 
seized  upon  by  the  nearest  of  our  cousins,  and  we  were 
whined  into  a  very  vortex  of  greetings  and  congratula- 
tions. It  was  fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  we  were 
allowed  to  drive  off  in  the  dog-cart;  and  Captain  Carey 
was  almost  breathless  with  exhaustion. 

"  They  are  good  fellows,"  he  said,  after  a  time,  "  very 
good  fellows,  but  it  is  trying,  isn't  it,  Martin?  It  is  as  if 
no  man  was  ever  married  before;  though  they  have  gone 
through  it  themselves,  and  ought  to  know  how  one  feels. 
Now  you  take  it  quietly,  my  boy,  and  you  do  not  know 
how  deeply  I  feel  obliged  to  you." 

There  was  some  reason  for  me  to  take  it  quietly.  I 
could  not  help  thinking  how  nearly  I  had  been  myself  in 
Captain  Carey's  position.     I  knew  that  Julia  and  I  would 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  369 

have  led  a  tranquil,  matter-of-fact,  pleasant  enough  life 
together,  but  for  the  unlucky  fate  that  had  carried  me 
across  to  fall  in  love  with  Olivia.  There  was  something 
enviable  in  the  tranquil  prosperity  I  had  forfeited. 
Guernsey  was  the  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me,  yet  I  was 
practically  banished  from  it.  Julia  was,  beyond  all  doubt, 
the  woman  I  loved  most,  next  to  Olivia,  but  she  was  lost 
to  me.  There  was  no  hope  for  me  on  the  other  hand. 
Foster  was  well  again,  and  by  my  means.  Probably  I 
mi^lit  secure  peace  and  comparative  freedom  for  Olivia, 
but  that  was  all.  She  could  never  be  more  to  me  than 
she  was  now.  My  only  prospect  was  that  of  a  dreary 
bachelorhood;  and  Captain  Carey's  bashful  exultation 
made  the  future  seem  less  tolerable  to  me. 

I  felt  it  more  still  when,  after  dinner  in  the  cool  of  the 
summer  evening,  we  drove  back  into  town  to  see  Julia  for 
the  last  time  before  we  met  In  church  the  next  morning. 
There  was  an  air  of  glad  excitement  pervading  the  house. 
Friends  were  running  in,  with  gifts  and  pleasant  words  of 
congratulation.  Julia  herself  had  a  peculiar  modest  state- 
liness  and  frank  dignity,  which  suited  her  well.  She  was 
happy  and  content,  and  her  face  glowed.  Captain  Carey's 
manner  was  one  of  tender  chivalry,  somewhat  old- 
fashioned.  I  found  it  a  hard  thing  to  "  look  at  happiness 
through  another  man's  eyes." 

I  drove  Captain  Carey  and  Johanna  home  along  the 
low,  level  shore  which  I  had  so  often  traversed  with  my 
heart  full  of  Olivia.  It  was  dusk,  the  dusk  of  a  summer's 
night ;  but  the  sea  was  luminous,  and  Sark  lay  upon  it, 
a  bank  of  silent  darkness,  sleeping  to  the  music  of  the 
waves.  A  strong  yearning  came  over  me,  a  longing  to 
know  immediately  the  fate  of  my  Olivia.  Would  to 
Heaven  she  could  return  to  Sark,  and  be  cradled  there  in 
its  silent  and  isolated  dells!  Would  to  Heaven  this  huge 
24 


370  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

load  of  anxiety  and  care  for  her,  which  bowed  me  down, 
might  be  taken  away  altogether! 
|       "  A  fortnight  longer,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and  Tardif  will 
know  where  she   is;  then   I  can   take  measures   for  her 
tranquillity  and  safety  in  the  future." 

It  was  well  for  me  that  I  had  slept  during  my  passage, 
for  I  had  little  sleep  during  that  night.  Twice  I  was 
aroused  by  the  voice  of  Captain  Carey  at  my  door,  inquir- 
ing what  the  London  time  was,  and  if  I  could  rely  upon 
my  watch  not  having  stopped.  At  four  o'clock  he  insisted 
upon  everybody  in  the  house  getting  up.  The  ceremony 
was  to  be  solemnized  at  seven,  for  the  mail  steamer  from 
Jersey  to  England  was  due  in  Guernsey  at  nine,  and  there 
were  no  other  means  of  quitting  the  island  later  in  the 
day.  Under  these  circumstances  there  could  be  no  formal 
wedding  breakfast,  a  matter  not  much  to  be  regretted. 
There  would  not  be  too  much  time,  so  Johanna  said,  for 
the  bride  to  change  her  wedding-dress  at  her  own  house 
for  a  suitable  travelling  costume,  and  the  rest  of  the  day 
would  be  our  own. 

Captain  Carey  and  I  were  standing  at  the  altar  of  the 
old  church  some  minutes  before  the  bridal  procession 
appeared.  He  looked  pale,  but  wound  up  to  a  high  pitch 
of  resolute  courage.  The  church  was  nearly  full  of  eager 
spectators,  all  of  whom  I  had  known  from  my  childhood 
— faces  that  would  have  crowded  about  me,  had  I  been 
standing  in  the  bridegroom's  place.  Far  back,  half 
sheltered  by  a  pillar,  I  saw  the  white  head  and  handsome 
face  of  my  father,  with  Kate  Daltrey  by  his  side;  but 
though  the  church  was  so  full,  nobody  had  entered  the 
same  pew.  His  name  had  not  been  mentioned  in  my 
hearing.  As  far  as  his  old  circle  in  Guernsey  was  con- 
cerned, Dr.  Dobree  was  dead. 

At  length  Julia  appeared,  pale  like  the  bridegroom,  but 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  37 1 

dignified  and  prepossessing.  She  did  not  glance  at  me; 
she  evidently  gave  no  thought  to  me.  That  was  well,  and 
as  it  should  be.  If  any  fancy  had  been  lingering  in  my 
head  that  she  still  regretted  somewhat  the  exchange  she 
had  made,  that  fancy  vanished  forever.  Julia's  expres- 
sion, when  Captain  Carey  drew  her  hand  through  his 
arm,  and  led  her  down  the  aisle  to  the  vestry,  was  one  of 
unmixed  contentment. 

Yet  there  was  a  pang  in  it — reason  as  I  would  there 
was  a  pang  in  it  for  me.  I  should  have  liked  her  to 
glance  once  at  me,  with  a  troubled  and  dimmed  eye.  I 
should  have  liked  a  shade  upon  her  face,  as  I  wrote  my 
name  below  her  in  the  register.  But  there  was  nothing 
of  the  kind.  She  gave  me  the  kiss,  which  I  demanded  as 
her  cousin  Martin,  without  embarrassment,  and  after  that 
she  put  her  hand  again  upon  the  bridegroom's  arm,  and 
marched  off  with  him  to  the  carriage. 

A  whole  host  of  us  accompanied  the  bridal  pair  to  the 
pier,  and  saw  them  start  off  on  their  wedding  trip,  with  a 
pyramid  of  bouquets  before  them  on  the  deck  of  the 
steamer.  We  ran  round  to  the  lighthouse,  and  waved  our 
hats  and  handkerchiefs  as  long  as  they  were  in  sight. 
That  duty  done,  the  rest  of  the  day  was  our  own. 


?72  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    XLTX. 


A    TELEGRAM    IN    PATOIS. 


WHAT  a  long  day  it  was!  How  the  hours  seemed  to 
double  themselves,  and  creep  along  at  the  slowest 
pace  they  could!  I  had  had  some  hope  of  running  over 
to  Sark  to  see  Tardif,  but  that  could  not  be.  I  was 
needed  too  much  by  the  party  that  had  been  left  behind 
by  Captain  Carey  and  Julia.  We  tried  to  while  away  the 
time  by  a  drive  round  the  island,  and  by  visiting  many  of 
my  old  favorite  haunts ;  but  I  could  not  be  myself.  Every- 
body rallied  me  on  my  want  of  spirits,  but  I  found  it  im- 
possible to  shake  off  my  depression.  I  was  glad  when  the 
day  was  over,  and  Johanna  and  I  were  left  in  the  quiet 
secluded  house  in  the  Vale,  where  the  moan  of  the  sea 
sighed  softly  through  the  night  air. 

"  This  has  been  a  trying  day  for  you,  Martin,"  said  Jo- 
hanna. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  I  can  hardly  account  for  my  own 
depression.  Johanna,  in  another  fortnight  I  shall  learn 
where  Olivia  is.  I  want  to  find  a  home  for  her.  Jusl 
think  of  her  desolate  position !  She  has  no  friends  but 
Tardif  and  me ;  and  you  know  how  the  world  would  talk 
if  I  were  too  openly  her  friend.  Indeed,  I  do  not  wish 
her  to  come  to  live  in  London ;  the  trial  would  be  too 
great  for  me.  I  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  see  her,  to 
speak  to  her— and  that  would  be  fatal  to  her.  Dearest 
Johanna,  I  want  such  a  home  as  this  for  her." 

Johanna  made  no  reply,  and  I  could  not  see  her  face 


TUB   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  373 

in  the  dim  moonlight  which  filled  the  room.  I  knelt  down 
beside  her,  to  urge  my  wish  more  earnestly. 

"  Your  name  would  be  such  a  protection  to  her,1'  I 
went  on,  "this  house  such  a  refuge!  If  my  mother  were 
living  I  would  ask  her  to  receive  her.  You  have  been 
almost  as  good  to  me  as  my  mother.  Save  me,  save 
Olivia,  from  the  difficulty  I  see  before  us." 

"  Will  you  never  get  over  this  unfortunate  affair?"  she 
asked,  half  angrily. 

"Never!  "  I  said;  "Olivia  is  so  dear  to  me  that  I  am 
afraid  of  harming  her  by  my  love.  Save  her  from  me, 
Johanna.  You  have  it  in  your  power.  I  should  be  happy 
if  I  knew  she  was  here  with  you.  I  implore  you,  for  my 
mother's  sake,  to  receive  Olivia  into  your  home." 

"  She  shall  come  to  me,"  said  Johanna,  after  a  few  min- 
utes' silence.  I  was  satisfied,  though  the  consent  was  given 
with  a  sigh.  I  knew  that,  before  long,  Johanna  would  be 
profoundly  attached  to  my  Olivia. 

It  was  almost  midnight  the  next  day  when  I  reached 
Brook  Street,  where  I  found  Jack  expecting  my  return. 
He  had  bought,  in  honor  of  it,  some  cigars  of  special 
quality,  over  which  I  was  to  tell  him  all  the  story  of  Julia's 
wedding.  But  a  letter  was  waiting  for  me,  directed  in 
queer,  crabbed  handwriting,  and  posted  in  Jersey  a  week 
before.  It  had  been  so  long  on  the  road  in  consequence 
of  the  bad  penmanship  of  the  address.  I  opened  it  care- 
lessly as  I  answered  Jack's  first  inquiries;  but  the  instant 
I  saw  the  signature  I  held  up  my  hand  to  silence  him.  It 
was  from  Tardif.     This  is  a  translation: — 

"Dear  Doctor  and  Friend:— This  day  I  received  a 
letter  from  Mam'zelle ;  quite  a  little  letter  with  only  a  few 
lines  in  it.  She  says,  '  Come  to  me.  My  husband  has 
found  me ;  he  is  here.     I  have  no  friends  but  you  and  one 


374  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

other,  and  I  cannot  send  for  him.  You  said  you  would 
come  to  me  whenever  I  wanted  you.  I  have  not  time  to 
write  more.  I  am  in  a  little  village  called  Ville-en-bois, 
between  Granville  and  Noireau.  Come  to  the  house  of 
the  Cure;  I  am  there.' 

"  Behold,  I  am  gone,  dear  monsieur.  I  write  this  in 
my  boat,  for  we  are  crossing  to  Jersey  to  catch  the  steam- 
boat to  Granville.  To-morrow  evening  I  shall  be  in  Ville- 
en-bois.  Will  you  learn  the  law  of  France  about  this 
affair?  They  say  the  code  binds  a  woman  to  follow  her 
husband  wherever  he  goes.  At  London  you  can  learn 
anything.  Believe  me,  I  will  protect  mam'zelle,  or  I 
should  say  madame,  at  the  loss  of  my  life.  Write  to  me 
as  soon  as  you  receive  this.  There  will  be  an  inn  at 
Ville-en-bois;  direct  to  me  there.  Take  courage,  mon- 
sieur. Your  devoted 

"Tardif." 

"I  must  go!  "  I  exclaimed,  starting  to  my  feet,  about 
to  rush  out  of  the  house. 

"Where?"  cried  Jack,  catching  my  arm  between  both 
his  hands,  and  holding  me  fast. 

"To  Olivia,1'  I  answered;  "that  villain,  that  scoundrel, 
has  hunted  her  out  in  Normandy.  Read  that,  Jack.  Let 
me  go." 

"  Stay !  "  he  said ;  "  there  is  no  chance  of  going  so  late 
as  this;  it  is  after  twelve  o'clock.  Let  us  think  a  few 
minutes,  and  look  at  Bradshaw." 

But  at  that  moment  a  furious  peal  of  the  bell  rang 
through  the  house.  We  both  ran  into  the  hall.  The  ser- 
vant had  just  opened  the  door,  and  a  telegraph  clerk 
stood  on  the  steps,  with  a  telegram,  which  he  thrust  into 
his  hands.  It  was  directed  to  me.  I  tore  it  open.  "  From 
Tardif,  Granville,  to  Dr.  Dobree,  Brook  Street,  London." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


375 


A  message  was  written  underneath  in  Norman  patois,  but 
so  misspelt  and  garbled  in  its  transmission  that  I  could  not 
make  out  the  sense  of  it.  The  only  words  I  was  sure 
about  were  " mam'zelle,"  "  Foster,"  and  "death."  Who 
was  dead  I  could  not  tell. 


376  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


PART    THIRD. 

CHAPTER    I. 

Olivia's  justification. 

1KN0W  that  in  the  eyes*of  the  world  I  was  guilty  of  a 
great  fault — a  fault  so  grave  that  society  condemns  it 
bitterly.  How  shall  I  justify  myself  before  those  who  be- 
lieve a  woman  owes  her  whole  self  to  her  husband,  what- 
ever his  conduct  to  her  may  be?  That  is  impossible. 
To  them  I  merely  plead  "  guilty,"  and  say  nothing  of  ex- 
tenuating circumstances. 

But  there  are  others  who  will  listen,  and  be  sorry  for 
me.  There  are  women  like  Johanna  Carey,  who  will  pity 
me,  and  lay  the  blame  where  it  ought  to  lie. 

I  was  little  more  than  seventeen  when  I  was  married; 
as  mere  a  child  as  any  simple,  innocent  girl  of  seventeen 
among  you.  I  knew  nothing  of  what  life  was,  or  what 
possibilities  of  happiness  or  misery  it  contained.  I  mar- 
ried to  get  away  from  a  home  that  had  been  happy,  but 
which  had  become  miserable.     This  was  how  it  was. 

My  own  mother  died  when  I  was  too  young  a  child  to 
feel  her  loss.  For  many  years  after  that,  my  father  and  I 
lived  alone  together  on  one  of  the  great  sheep  farms  of 
Adelaide,  which  belonged  to  him,  and  where  he  made  all 
the  fortune  that  he  left  me.  A  very  happy  life,  very  free, 
with  no  trammels  of  society  and  no  fetters  of  custom :  a 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  377 

simple  rustic  life,  which  gave  me  no  preparation  for  the 
years  that  came  after  it. 

When  I  was  thirteen  my  father  married  again — for  my 
sake,  and  mine  only.  I  knew  afterward  that  he  was  al- 
ready foreseeing  his  death,  and  feared  to  leave  me  alone 
in  the  colony.  He  thought  his  second  wife  would  be  a 
mother  to  me,  at  the  age  when  I  most  needed  one.  He 
died  two  years  after,  leaving  me  to  her  care.  He  died 
more  peacefully  than  he  could  have  done,  because  of  that. 
This  he  said  to  me  the  very  last  day  of  his  life.  Ah!  I 
trust  the  dead  do  not  know  the  troubles  that  come  to  the 
living.  It  would  have  troubled  my  father — nay,  it  would 
have  been  anguish  to  him,  even  in  heaven  itself,  if  he 
could  have  seen  my  life  after  he  was  gone.  It  is  no  use 
talking  or  thinking  about  it.  After  two  wretched  years  I 
was  only  too  glad  to  be  married,  and  get  away  from  the 
woman  who  owed  almost  the  duty  of  a  mother  to  me. 

Richard  Foster  was  a  nephew  of  my  step-mother,  the 
only  man  I  was  allowed  to  see.  He  was  almost  twice  my 
age ;  but  he  had  pleasant  manners,  and  a  smooth,  smooth 
tongue.  I  believed  he  loved  me,  he  swore  it  so  often  and 
so  earnestly;  and  I  was  in  sore  need  of  love.  I  wanted 
some  one  to  take  care  of  me,  and  think  of  me,  and  com- 
fort me,  as  my  father  had  been  used  to  do.  So  much 
alone,  so  desolate  I  had  been  since  his  death,  no  one  car- 
ing whether  I  were  happy  or  miserable,  ill  or  well,  that  I 
felt  grateful  to  Richard  Foster  when  he  said  he  loved  me. 
He  seemed  to  come  in  my  father's  stead,  and  my  step- 
mother urged  and  hurried  on  our  marriage,  and  I  did  not 
know  what  I  was  doing.  The  trustees  who  had  charge  of 
my  property  left  me  to  the  care  of  my  father's  widow. 
That  was  how  I  came  to  marry  him  when  I  was  only  a 
girl  of  seventeen,  with  no  knowledge  of  the  world  but 
what  I  had  learned  on  my  father's  sheep-run. 


378  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

It  was  a  horrible,  shameful  thing,  if  you  will  only  think 
of  it.  There  was  I,  an  ignorant,  unconscious,  bewildered 
girl,  with  a  film  of  childhood  over  my  eyes  still ;  and  there 
was  he,  a  crafty,  unprincipled,  double-tongued  adventurer, 
who  was  in  love  with  my  fortune,  not  with  me.  As  quickly 
as  he  could  carry  me  away  from  my  home,  and  return  to 
his  own  haunts  in  Europe,  he  brought  me  away  from  the 
colony,  where  all  whom  I  could  ever  call  friends  were  liv- 
ing. I  was  utterly  alone  with  him — at  his  mercy.  There 
was  not  an  ear  that  I  could  whisper  a  complaint  to;  not 
one  face  that  would  look  at  me  in  pity  and  compassion. 
My  father  had  been  a  good  man,  single-hearted,  high- 
minded,  and  chivalrous.  This  man  laughed  at  all  honor 
and  conscience  scornfully. 

I  cannot  tell  you  the  shock  and  horror  of  it.  I  had  not 
known  there  were  such  places  and  such  people  in  the 
world,  until  I  was  thrust  suddenly  into  the  midst  of  them ; 
innocent  at  first,  like  the  child  I  was,  but  the  film  soon 
passed  away  from  my  eyes.  I  grew  to  loath  myself  as 
well  as  him.  How  would  an  angel  feel,  who  was  forced 
to  go  down  to  hell,  and  become  like  the  lost  creatures 
there,  remembering  all  the  time  the  undefiled  heaven  he 
was  banished  from?  I  was  no  angel,  but  I  had  been  a 
simple,  unsullied,  clear-minded  girl,  and  I  found  myself 
linked  in  association  with  men  and  women  such  as  fre- 
quent the  gambling  places  on  the  Continent.  For  we 
lived  upon  the  Continent,  going  from  one  gambling  place 
to  another.  How  was  a  girl  like  me  to  possess  her  own 
soul,  and  keep  it  pure,  when  it  belonged  to  a  man  like 
Richard  Foster? 

There  was  one  more  injury  and  degradation  for  me  to 
suffer.  I  recollect  the  first  moment  I  saw  the  woman  who 
wrought  me  so  much  misery  afterward.  We  were  staying 
in  Homburg  for  a  few  weeks  at  an  hotel;  and  she  was 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  379 

seated  at  a  little  table  in  a  window,  not  far  from  the  one 
where  we  were  sitting.  A  handsome,  bold-looking,  arro- 
gant woman.  They  had  known  one  another  years  before, 
it  seemed.  He  said  she  was  his  cousin.  He  left  me  to 
go  and  speak  to  her,  and  I  watched  them,  though  I  did  not 
know  then  that  anything  more  would  come  of  it  than  a 
casual  acquaintance.  I  saw  his  face  grow  animated,  and 
his  eyes  look  into  hers,  with  an  expression  that  stirred 
something  like  jealousy  within  me,  if  jealousy  can  exist 
without  love.  When  he  returned  to  me,  he  told  me  he 
had  invited  her  to  join  us  as  my  companion.  She  came 
to  us  that  evening. 

She  never  left  us  after  that.  I  was  too  young,  he  said, 
to  be  left  alone  in  foreign  towns  while  he  was  attending 
to  his  business,  and  his  cousin  would  be  the  most  suitable 
person  to  take  care  of  me.  I  hated  the  woman  instinc- 
tively. She  was  civil  to  me  just  at  first,  but  soon  there 
was  open  war  between  us,  at  which  he  laughed  only ;  find- 
ing amusement  for  himself  in  my  fruitless  efforts  to  get 
rid  of  her.  After  a  while  I  discovered  it  could  only  be 
by  setting  myself  free  from  him. 

Now,  judge  me.  Tell  me  what  I  was  bound  to  do. 
Three  voices  I  hear  speak. 

One  says,  "  You,  a  poor  hasty  girl,  very  weak  yet  inno- 
cent, ought  to  have  remained  in  the  slough,  losing  day  by 
day  your  purity,  your  worth,  your  nobleness,  till  you  grew 
like  your  companions.  You  had  vowed  ignorantly,  with 
a  profound  ignorance,  it  might  be,  to  obey  and  honor  this 
man  till  death  parted  you.  You  had  no  right  to  break 
that  vow." 

Another  says,  "  You  should  have  made  of  yourself  a  spy, 
you  should  have  laid  traps;  you  should  have  gathered  up 
every  scrap  of  evidence  you  could  find  against  them,  that 
might  have  freed  you  in  a  court  of  law." 


380  THE    DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

A  third  says,  "  It  was  right  for  you,  for  the  health  of 
your  soul,  and  the  deliverance  of  your  whole  self  from  an 
intolerable  bondage,  to  break  the  ignorantly-taken  vow, 
and  take  refuge  in  flight.  No  soul  can  be  bound  irrevo- 
cably to  another  for  its  own  hurt  and  ruin." 

I  listened  then,  as  I  should  listen  now,  to  the  third 
voice.  The  chance  came  to  me  just  before  I  was  one 
and  twenty.  They  were  bent  upon  extorting  from  me 
that  portion  of  my  father's  property  which  would  come  to 
me,  and  fre  solely  in  my  own  power,  when  I  came  of  age. 
It  had  been  settled  upon  me  in  such  a  way,  that  if  I  were 
married  my  husband  could  not  touch  it  without  my  con- 
sent. 

I  must  make  this  quite  clear.  One-third  of  my  fortune 
was  so  settled  that  I  myself  could  not  take  any  portion  of 
it  save  the  interest ;  but  the  other  two-thirds  were  abso- 
lutely mine,  whether  I  was  married  or  single.  By  locking 
up  one  third  my  father  had  sought  to  provide  against  the 
possibility  of  my  ever  being  reduced  to  poverty.  The  rest 
was  my  own,  to  keep  if  I  pleased;  to  give  up  to  my  hus- 
band if  I  pleased. 

At  first  they  tried  what  fair  words  and  flattery  would  do 
with  me.  Then  they  changed  their  tactics.  They  brought 
me  over  to  London,  where  not  a  creature  knew  me.  They 
made  me  a  prisoner  in  dull,  dreary  rooms,  where  I  had  no 
employment  and  no  resources.  That  is,  the  woman  did 
it.  My  husband,  after  settling  us  in  a  house  in  London, 
disappeared,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him.  I  know  now  he 
wished  to  keep  himself  irresponsible  for  my  imprison- 
ment. She  would  have  been  the  scapegoat,  had  any  legal 
difficulties  arisen.  He  was  anxious  to  retain  all  his  rights 
over  me. 

I  can  see  how  subtle  he  was.  Though  my  life  was  a 
daily  torture,  there  was  positively  nothing  I  could  put  into 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA,  381 

words  against  him — nothing  that  would  have  authorized 
me  to  seek  a  legal  separation.  I  did  not  know  anything 
of  the  laws,  how  should  I?  Except  the  fact  which  he 
dinned  into  my  ears  that  he  could  compel  me  to  live  with 
him.  But  I  know  now  that  the  best  friends  in  the  world 
could  not  have  saved  me  from  him,  in  any  other  way  than 
the  one  I  took.  He  kept  within  the  letter  of  the  law. 
He  forfeited  no  atom  of  his  claim  upon  me. 

Then  God  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me  into  a 
peaceful  and  untroubled  refuge,  until  I  had  gathered 
strength  again. 


382  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   II. 


ON    THE    WING    AGAIN. 


HOW  should  I  see  that  Dr.  Martin  Dobree  was  falling 
in  love  with  me?  I  was  blind  to  it;  strangely- 
blind,  those  wise  people  will  think,  who  say  a  woman  al- 
ways knows  when  a  man  loves  her.  I  knew  so  well  that 
all  my  life  was  shut  out  from  the  ordinary  hopes  and  pros- 
pects of  girlhood,  that  I  never  realized  the  fact  that  to 
him  I  was  a  young  girl  whom  he  might  love  honorably, 
were  he  once  set  free  from  his  engagement  to  his  cousin 
Julia. 

I  had  not  looked  for  any  trouble  of  that  kind.  He 
had  been  as  kind  to  me  as  any  brother  could  have  been — 
kind,  and  chivalrous,  and  considerate.  The  first  time  I 
saw  him  I  was  weak  and  worn  out  with  great  pain,  and 
my  mind  seemed  wandering.  His  face  came  suddenly 
and  distinctly  before  me ;  a  pleasant  face,  though  neither 
handsome  nor  regular  in  features.  It  possessed  great 
vivacity  and  movement,  changing  readily,  and  always 
full  of  expression.  He  looked  at  me  so  earnestly  and 
compassionately,  his  dark  eyes  seeming  to  search  for  the 
pain  I  was  suffering,  that  I  felt  perfect  confidence  in  him 
at  once.  I  was  vaguely  conscious  of  his  close  attendance, 
and  unremitting  care,  during  the  whole  week  that  I  lay  ill. 
All  this  placed  us  on  very  pleasant  terms  of  familiarity 
and  friendship. 

How  grieved  I  was  when  this  friendship  came  to  an 
end  — when  he  confessed  his  unfortunate  love  to  me — it  is 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  383 

impossible  for  me  to  say.  Such  a  thought  had  never 
crossed  my  mind.  Not  until  I  saw  the  expression  on  his 
face,  when  he  called  to  us  from  the  shore  to  wait  for  him, 
and  waded  eagerly  through  the  water  to  us,  and  held  my 
hands  fast  as  I  helped  him  into  the  boat — not  till  then  did 
I  suspect  his  secret.     Poor  Martin ! 

Then  there  came  the  moment  when  I  was  compelled 
to  say  to  him,  "  I  was  married  four  years  ago,  and  my  hus- 
band is  still  living" — a  very  bitter  moment  to  me;  per- 
haps more  bitter  than  to  him.  I  knew  we  must  see  one 
another  no  more ;  and  I,  who  was  so  poor  in  friends,  lost 
the  dearest  of  them  by  those  words.  That  was  a  great 
shock  to  me. 

But  the  next  day  came  the  second  shock  of  meeting 
Kate  Daltrey,  my  husband's  half-sister.  Martin  had  told 
me  that  there  was  a  person  in  Guernsey  who  had  traced 
my  flight  so  far ;  but  in  my  trouble  and  sorrow  for  him,  I 
had  not  thought  much  of  this  intelligence.  I  saw  in  an 
instant  that  I  had  lost  all  again,  my  safety,  my  home,  my 
new  friends.  I  must  flee  once  more,  alone  and  unaided, 
leaving  no  trace  behind  me.  When  old  mother  Renouf, 
whom  Tardif  had  set  to  watch  me  for  very  fear  of  this 
mischance,  had  led  me  away  from  Kate  Daltrey  to  the 
cottage,  I  sought  out  Tardif  at  once. 

He  was  down  at  the  water's  edge,  mending  his  boat, 
which  lay  with  its  keel  upward.  He  heard  my  footsteps 
among  the  pebbles,  and  turned  round  to  meet  me  with 
one  of  his  grave  smiles,  which  had  never  failed  me  when- 
ever I  went  to  him. 

"  Mam'zelle  is  triste,"  he  said;  "is  there  anything  I  can 
do  for  you?  " 

"  I  must  go  away  from  here,  Tardif,"  I  answered,  with 
a  chocking  voice. 

A  change  swept  quickly  across  his  face,  but  he  passed 


384  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

his  hand  for  a  moment  over  it,  and  tnen  regarded  me 
again  with  his  grave  smile. 

"For  what  reason,  mam'zelle?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh !   I  must  tell  you  everything !  "   I  cried. 

"  Tell  me  everything,"  he  repeated  ;  "  it  shall  be  buried 
here,  in  my  heart,  as  if  it  was  buried  in  the  depths  of  the 
sea.  I  will  try  not  to  think  of  it  even,  if  you  bid  me.  I 
am  your  friend  as  well  as  your  servant." 

Then  leaning  against  his  boat,  for  I  could  not  control 
my  trembling,  I  told  him  almost  all  about  my  wretched 
life,  from  which  God  had  delivered  me,  leading  me  to  him 
for  shelter  and  comfort.  He  listened  with  his  eyes  cast 
down,  never  once  raising  them  to  my  face,  and  in  perfect 
silence,  except  that  once  or  twice  he  groaned  within  him- 
self, and  clenched  his  hard  hands  together.  I  know  that 
I  could  never  have  told  my  history  to  any  other  man  as  I 
told  it  to  him,  a  homely  peasant  and  fisherman,  but  with 
as  noble  and  gentle  a  heart  as  ever  beat. 

"  You  must  go,"  he  said,  when  I  had  finished.  His 
voice  was  hollow  and  broken,  but  the  words  were  spoken 
distinctly  enough  for  me  to  hear  them. 

"Yes,  there  is  no  help  for  me,"  I  answered;  "there  is 
no  rest  for  me  but  death." 

"It  would  be  better  to  die,"  he  said  solemnly,  "than 
return  to  a  life  like  that.  I  would  sooner  bury  you  up 
yonder,  in  our  little  grave-yard,  than  give  you  up  to  your 
husband." 

"  You  will  help  me  to  get  away  at  once?  "     I  asked. 

"At  once,"  he  repeated,  in  the  same  broken  voice. 
His  face  looked  gray,  and  his  mouth  twitched.  He 
leaned  against  his  boat  as  if  he  could  hardly  stand;  as  I 
was  doing  myself,  for  I  felt  utterly  weak  and  shaken. 

"  How  soon?  "   I  asked. 

"To-morrow  I  will  row  you  to   Guernsey  in  time  for 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  385 

the  packet  to  England,"  he  answered.  "  Mon  Dieu !  how 
little  I  thought  what  I  was  mending  my  boat  for!  Mam'- 
zelle,  is  there  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world  I  can  do  for 
you?" 

"Nothing,  Tardif,"  I  said  sorrowfully. 

"  Nothing!  "  he  assented,  dropping  his  head  down  upon 
his  hands.  No,  there  was  positively  nothing  he  could  do 
for  me.  There  was  no  person  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
who  could  help  me. 

"  My  poor  Tardif,"  I  said,  laying  my  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der, "  I  am  a  great  trouble  to  you." 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  let  you  go  in  this  way,"  he  replied 
without  looking  up.  "  If  it  had  been  to  marry  Dr.  Mar- 
tin— why  then But  you  have  to  go  alone,  poor  little 

child!" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "alone." 

After  that  we  were  both  silent  for  some  minutes.  We 
could  hear  the  peaceful  lapping  of  the  water  at  our  feet, 
and  its  boom  against  the  rocks,  and  the  shrieking  of  the 
sea-gulls ;  but  there  was  utter  silence  between  us  two.  I 
felt  as  if  it  would  break  my  heart  to  leave  this  place,  and 
go  whither  I  knew  not.     Yet  there  was  no  alternative. 

"  Tardif,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I  will  go  first  to  London.  It 
is  so  large  a  place,  nobody  will  find  me  there.  Besides 
they  would  never  think  of  me  going  back  to  London. 
When  I  am  there  I  will  try  to  get  a  situation  as  governess 
somewhere.  I  could  teach  little  children;  and  if  I  go 
into  a  school  there  will  be  no  one  to  fall  in  love  with  me, 
like  Dr.  Martin.     I  am  very  sorry  for  him." 

"Sorry  for  him!  "  repeated  Tardif. 

"  Yes,  very  sorry,"  I  replied ;  "  it  is  as  if  I  must  bring 
trouble  everywhere.  You  are  troubled,  and  I  cannot  help 
it." 

"  I  have  only  had  one  trouble  as  great,"  he  said,  as  if  to 
25 


386  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

himself,  "  and  that  was  when  my  poor  little  wife  died.  I 
wish  to  God  I  could  keep  you  here  in  safety,  but  that  is 
impossible." 

"  Quite  impossible,"  I  answered. 

Yet  it  seemed  too  bad  to  be  true.  What  had  I  done, 
to  be  driven  away  from  this  quiet  little  home  into  the  cold, 
wide  world?  Poor  and  friendless,  after  all  my  father's 
far-seeing  plans  and  precautions  to  secure  me  from  poverty 
and  friendlessness!  What  was  to  be  my  lot  in  that  dis- 
mal future,  over  the  rough  threshold  of  which  I  must 
cross  to-morrow? 

Tardif  and  I  talked  it  all  over  that  evening,  sitting  at 
the  cottage-door,  until  the  last  gleam  of  daylight  had 
faded  from  the  sky.  He  had  some  money  in  hand  just 
then,  which  he  had  intended  to  invest  the  next  time  he 
went  to  Guernsey,  and  could  see  his  notary.  This 
money,  thirty  pounds,  he  urged  me  to  accept  as  a  gift; 
but  I  insisted  upon  leaving  with  him  my  watch  and  chain 
in  pledge,  until  I  could  repay  the  money.  It  would  be  a 
long  time  before  I  could  do  that,  I  knew,  for  I  was  re- 
solved never  to  return  to  Richard  Foster,  and  to  endure 
any  privation  rather  than  claim  my  property. 

I  left  Tardif  after  a  while,  to  pack  up  my  very  few  pos- 
sessions. We  did  not  tell  his  mother  that  I  was  going,  for 
he  said  it  would  be  better  not.  In  the  morning  he  would 
simply  let  her  know  I  was  going  over  to  Guernsey.  No 
communication  had  ever  passed  between  the  old  woman 
and  me  except  by  signs,  yet  I  should  miss  even  her  in  that 
cold,  careless  crowd  in  which  I  was  about  to  be  lost,  in  the 
streets  of  London. 

We  started  at  four  in  the  morning,  while  the  gray  sky 
was  dappled  over  with  soft  clouds,  and  the  sea  itself 
seemed  waking  up  from  sleep,  as  if  it  too  had  been  slum- 
bering through  the  night.     The  morning  mist  upon  the 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  387 

cliffs  made  them  look  mysterious,  as  if  they  had  some 
secrets  to  conceal.  Untrodden  tracks  climbed  the  sur- 
face of  the  rocks,  and  were  lost  in  the  fine  filmy  haze. 
The  water  looked  white  and  milky,  with  lines  across  it 
like  the  tracks  on  the  cliffs,  which  no  human  foot  could 
tread ;  and  the  tide  was  coming  back  to  the  shore  with  a 
low,  tranquil,  yet  sad  moan.  The  sea  gulls  skimmed  past 
us  with  their  white  wings,  almost  touching  us ;  their  plain- 
tive wailing  seeming  to  warn  us  of  the  treachery  and  sor- 
row of  the  sea.  I  was  not  afraid  of  the  treachery  of  the 
sea,  yet  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  them,  nor  could 
Tardif. 

We  landed  at  one  of  the  stone  staircases  running  up 
the  side  of  the  pier  at  Guernsey;  for  we  were  only  just  in 
time  for  the  steamer.  The  steps  were  slimy  and  wet  with 
sea-weed,  but  Tardif's  hand  grasped  mine  firmly.  He 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  of  idlers  who  were 
watching  the  lading  of  the  cargo,  and  took  me  down  im- 
mediately into  the  cabin. 

"  Good-by,  mam'zelle,"  he  said ;  "  I  must  leave  you. 
Send  for  me,  or  come  to  me,  if  you  are  in  trouble  and  I 
can  do  anything  for  you.  If  it  were  to  Australia  I  would 
follow  you.  I  know  I  am  only  fit  to  be  your  servant,  but 
all  the  same,  I  am  your  friend.  You  have  a  little  regard 
for  me,  mam'zelle?  " 

"O  Tardif!  "  I  sobbed,  "I  love  you  very  dearly." 

"  Now  that  makes  me  glad,"  he  said,  holding  my  hand 
between  his,  and  looking  down  at  me  with  tears  in  his 
eyes ;  "  you  said  that  from  your  good  heart,  mam'zelle. 
When  I  am  out  alone  in  my  boat  I  shall  think  of  it,  and 
in  the  long  winter  nights  by  the  fire,  when  there  is  no 
little  mam'zelle  to  come  and  talk  to  me,  I  shall  say  to 
myself,  '  She  loves  you  very  dearly.'  Good-by,  mam'zelle. 
God  be  with  you  and  protect  you." 


388  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Good-by,"  I  said,  with  a  sore  grief  in  my  heart,  "good- 
by,  Tardif.     It  is  very  dreadful  to  be  alone  again." 

There  was  no  time  to  say  more,  for  a  bell  rang  loudly 
on  deck,  and  we  heard  the  cry,  "All  friends  on  shore!  " 
Tardif  put  his  lips  to  my  hand,  and  left  me.  I  was  in- 
deed alone. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  389 


CHAPTER    III. 


IN    LONDON    LODGINGS. 


ONCE  more  I  found  myself  in  London,  a  city  so  strange 
to  me  that  I  did  not  know  the  name  of  any  street  in 
it.  I  had  more  acquaintance  with  almost  every  great  city 
on  the  Continent.  Fortunately,  Tardif  had  given  me  the 
address  of  a  boarding-house,  or  rather  a  small  family  hotel, 
where  he  had  stayed  two  or  three  times,  and  I  drove  there 
at  once.  It  was  in  a  quiet  back  street,  within  sound  of 
St.  Paul's  clock.  The  hour  was  so  late,  nearly  midnight, 
that  I  was  looked  upon  with  suspicion,  as  a  young  woman 
travelling  alone,  and  with  little  luggage.  It  was  only 
when  I  mentioned  Tardif,  whose  island  bearing  had  made 
him  noticeable  among  the  stream  of  strangers  passing 
through  the  house,  that  the  mistress  of  the  place  con- 
sented to  take  me  in. 

This  was  my  first  difficulty,  but  not  the  last.  By  the 
advice  of  the  mistress  of  the  boarding-house,  I  went  to 
several  governess  agencies,  which  were  advertising  for 
teachers  in  the  daily  papers.  At  most  of  these  they  would 
not  even  enter  my  name,  as  soon  as  I  confessed  my  ina- 
bility to  give  one  or  two  references  to  persons  who  would 
vouch  for  my  general  character  and  my  qualifications. 
This  was  a  fatal  impediment,  and  one  that  had  never  oc- 
curred to  me ;  yet  the  request  was  a  reasonable  one,  even 
essential.  What  could  be  more  suspicious  than  a  girl  of 
my  age  without  a  friend  to  give  a  guarantee  of  her  respec- 


390  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

tability?  There  seemed  no  hope  whatever  of  my  entering 
into  the  ill-paid  ranks  of  governesses. 

When  a  fortnight  had  passed  with  no  opening  for  me, 
I  felt  it  necessary  to  leave  the  boarding-house  which  had 
been  my  temporary  home.  I  must  economize  my  funds, 
for  I  did  not  know  how  long  I  must  make  them  hold  out. 
Wandering  about  the  least  fashionable  suburbs,  where 
lodgings  would  cost  least,  I  found  a  bed-room  in  the  third 
story  of  a  house  in  a  tolerably  respectable  street.  The 
rent  was  six  shillings  a  week,  to  be  paid  in  advance.  In 
this  place  I  entered  upon  a  new  phase  of  life,  so  different 
from  that  in  Sark  that,  in  the  delusions  which  solitude 
often  brings,  I  could  not  always  believe  myself  the  same 
person. 

A  dreamy,  solitary,  gloomy  life ;  shut  in  upon  myself, 
with  no  outlet  for  association  with  my  fellow-creatures. 
My  window  opened  upon  a  back-yard,  with  a  row  of  half- 
built  houses  standing  opposite  to  it.  These  houses  had 
been  left  half-finished,  and  were  partly  falling  into  ruin. 
A  row  of  bare,  empty  window-frames  faced  me  whenever 
I  turned  my  wearied  eyes  to  the  scene  without.  Not  a 
sound  or  sign  of  life  was  there  about  them.  Within,  my 
room  was  small  and  scantily  furnished,  yet  scarcely  with 
space  for  me  to  move  about  it.  There  was  no  table  for 
me  to  take  my  meals  at,  except  the  top  of  the  crazy  chest 
of  drawers,  which  served  as  my  dressing-table.  One  chair, 
broken  in  the  back,  and  tied  together  with  a  faded  rib- 
bon, was  the  only  seat,  except  my  box,  which,  set  in  a 
corner  where  I  could  lean  against  the  wall,  made  me  the 
most  comfortable  place  for  resting.  There  was  a  little 
rusty  grate,  but  it  was  still  summer  time,  and  there  was 
no  need  of  a  fire.  A  fire  indeed  would  have  been  insup- 
portable, for  the  sultry,  breathless  atmosphere  of  August, 
with  the  fever  heat  of  its  sun  burning  in  the  narrow  streets 


THE   DOCTOR'S   DILEMMA. 


391 


and  close  yards,  made  the  temperature  as  parching  as  an 
oven.  I  panted  for  the  cool  cliffs  and  sweet  fresh  air  of 
Sark. 

In  this  feverish  solitude  one  day  dragged  itself  after 
another  with  awful  monotony.  As  they  passed  by,  the 
only  change  they  brought  was  that  the  sultry  heat  grew 
ever  cooler,  and  the  long  days  shorter.  The  winter 
seemed  inclined  to  set  in  early,  and  with  unusual  rigor, 
for  a  month  before  the  usual  time  fires  became  necessary. 
I  put  off  lighting  mine,  for  fear  of  the  cost,  until  my  sun- 
less little  room  under  the  roof  was  almost  like  an  ice- 
house. A  severe  cold,  which  made  me  afraid  of  having 
to  call  in  a  doctor,  compelled  me  to  have  a  fire ;  and  the 
burning  of  it,  and  the  necessity  of  tending  it,  made  it  like 
a  second  person  and  companion  in  the  lonely  place. 
Hour  after  hour  I  sat  in  front  of  it  on  my  box,  with  my 
elbows  on  my  knees  and  my  chin  in  my  hands,  watching 
the  changeful  scenery  of  its  embers,  and  the  exquisite 
motion  of  the  flames,  and  the  upward  rolling  of  the  tiny 
columns  of  smoke,  and  the  fiery,  gorgeous  colors  that 
came  and  went  with  a  breath.  To  see  the  tongues  of  fire 
lap  round  the  dull,  black  coal,  and  run  about  it,  and  feel 
it,  and  kindle  it  with  burning  touches,  and  never  quit  it 
till  it  was  glowing  and  fervid,  and  aflame  like  themselves 
— that  was  my  sole  occupation  for  hours  together. 

Think  what  a  dreary  life  for  a  young  girl!  I  was  as 
fond  of  companionship,  and  needed  love,  as  much  as  any 
girl.  Was  it  strange  that  my  thoughts  dwelt  somewhat 
dangerously  upon  the  pleasant,  peaceful  days  in  Sark? 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  to  a  voiceless,  solitary, 
idle  day,  how  could  I  help  thinking  of  Martin  Dobree,  of 
Tardif,  even  of  old  mother  Renouf,  with  her  wrinkled  face 
and  her  significant  nods  and  becks?  Martin  Dobree's 
pleasant  face  would  come  before  me,  with  his  eyes  gleam- 


3Q2  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

ing  so  kindly  under  his  square  forehead,  and  his  lips  mov- 
ing tremulously  with  every  change  of  feeling.  Had  he 
gone  back  to  his  cousin  Julia  again,  and  were  they  mar- 
ried? I  ought  not  to  feel  any  sorrow  at  that  thought.  His 
path  had  run  side  by  side  with  mine  for  a  little  while,  but 
always  with  a  great  barrier  between  us ;  and  now  they  had 
diverged,  and  must  grow  farther  and  farther  apart,  never 
to  touch  again.  Yet,  how  my  father  would  have  loved 
him  had  he  known  him!  How  securely  he  would  have 
trusted  to  his  care  for  me !  But  stop !  There  was  folly 
and  wickedness  in  thinking  that  way.  Let  me  make  an 
end  of  that. 

There  was  no  loneliness  like  that  loneliness.  Twice  a 
day  I  exchanged  a  word  or  two  with  the  overworked 
drudge  of  a  servant  in  the  house  where  I  lived ;  but  I  had 
no  other  voice  to  speak  to  me.  No  wonder  that  my  im- 
agination sometimes  ran  in  forbidden  and  dangerous  chan- 
nels. 

When  I  was  not  thinking  and  dreaming  thus,  a  host  of 
anxieties  crowded  about  me.  My  money  was  melting 
away  again,  though  slowly,  for  I  denied  myself  everything 
but  the  bare  necessaries  of  life.  What  was  to  become  of 
me  when  it  was  all  gone?  It  was  the  old  question;  but 
the  answer  was  as  difficult  to  find  as  ever.  I  was  ready 
for  any  kind  of  work,  but  no  chance  of  work  came  to  me. 
With  neither  work  nor  money,  what  was  I  to  do?  What 
was  to  be  the  end  of  it? 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  393 


CHAPTER    IV. 


AN    APPOINTMENT. 


NOW  and  then,  when  I  ventured  out  into  the  streets,  a 
panic  would  seize  me,  a  dread  unutterably  great,  that 
I  might  meet  my  husband  amidst  the  crowd.  I  did  not 
even  know  that  he  was  in  London ;  he  had  always  spoken 
of  it  as  a  place  he  detested.  His  habits  made  the  free, 
unconventional  life  upon  the  Continent  more  agreeable  to 
him.  How  he  was  living  now,  what  he  was  doing,  where 
he  was,  were  so  many  enigmas  to  me ;  and  I  did  not  care 
to  run  any  risk  in  finding  out  the  answers  to  them.  Twice 
I  passed  the  Bank  of  Australia,  where  very  probably  I 
could  have  learned  if  he  was  in  the  same  city  as  myself; 
but  I  dared  not  do  it,  and  as  soon  as  I  knew  how  to  avoid 
that  street,  I  never  passed  along  it. 

I  had  been  allowed  to  leave  my  address  with  the  clerk 
of  a  large  general  agency  in  the  city,  when  I  had  not  been 
permitted  to  enter  my  name  in  the  books  for  want  of  a 
reference.  Toward  the  close  of  October  I  received  a 
note  from  him,  desiring  me  to  call  at  the  office  at  two 
o'clock  the  following  afternoon,  without  fail. 

No  danger  of  my  failing  to  keep  such  an  appointment! 
I  felt  in  better  spirits  that  night  than  I  had  done  since  I 
had  been  driven  from  Sark.  There  was  an  opening  for 
me,  a  chance  of  finding  employment,  and  I  resolved  be- 
forehand to  take  it,  whatever  it  might  be. 

It  was  an  agency  for  almost  every  branch  of  employ- 
ment not  actually  menial,  from  curates  to  lady's-maids, 


394  TIIE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

and  the  place  of  business  was  a  large  one.  There  were 
two  entrances,  and  two  distinct  compartments,  at  the  oppo- 
site ends  of  the  building ;  but  a  broad,  long  counter  ran 
the  whole  length  of  it,  and  a  person  at  one  end  could  see 
the  applicants  at  the  other  as  they  stood  by  the  counter. 
The  compartment  into  which  I  entered  was  filled  with  a 
crowd  of  women,  waiting  their  turn  to  transact  their  busi- 
ness. Behind  the  counter  were  two  or  three  private 
boxes,  in  which  employers  might  see  the  candidates,  and 
question  them  on  the  spot.  A  lady  was  at  that  moment 
examining  a  governess,  in  a  loud,  imperious  voice  which 
we  could  all  hear  distinctly.  My  heart  sank  at  the  idea 
of  passing  through  such  a  cross-examination  as  to  my  age, 
my  personal  history,  my  friends,  and  a  number  of  particu- 
lars foreign  to  the  question  of  whether  I  was  fit  for  the 
work  I  offered  myself  for. 

At  last  I  heard  the  imperious  voice  say,  "  You  may  go. 
I  do  not  think  you  will  suit  me,"  and  a  girl  of  about  my 
own  age  came  away  from  the  interview,  pale  and  trem- 
bling, and  with  tears  stealing  down  her  cheeks.  A  second 
girl  was  summoned  to  go  through  the  same  ordeal. 

What  was  I  to  do  if  this  person,  unseen  in  her  chamber 
of  torture,  was  the  lady  I  had  been  summoned  to  meet? 

It  was  a  miserable  sight,  this  crowd  of  poor  women 
seeking  work,  and  my  spirits  sank  like  lead.  A  set  of 
mournful,  depressed,  broken-down  women!  There  was 
not  one  I  would  have  chosen  to  be  a  governess  for  my 
girls.  Those  who  were  not  dispirited  were  vulgar  and 
self-asserting ;  a  class  that  wished  to  rise  above  the  posi- 
tion they  were  fitted  for  by  becoming  teachers.  These 
were  laughing  loudly  among  themselves  at  the  cross-ques- 
tioning going  on  so  calmly  within  their  hearing.  I  shrank 
away  into  a  corner,  until  my  turn  to  speak  to  the  busy 
clerk  should  come. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


395 


I  had  a  long  time  to  wait.  The  office  clock  pointed  to 
half-past  three  before  I  caught  the  clerk's  eye,  and  saw 
him  beckon  me  up  to  the  counter.  I  had  thrown  back 
my  veil,  for  here  I  was  perfectly  safe  from  recognition. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  counter,  in  the  compartment  de- 
voted to  curates,  doctors'  assistants,  and  others,  there 
stood  a  young  man  in  earnest  consultation  with  another 
clerk.  He  looked  earnestly  at  me,  but  I  was  sure  he  could 
not  know  me. 

"Miss  Ellen  Martineau? "  said  the  clerk.  That  was 
my  mother's  name,  and  I  had  adopted  it  for  my  own,  feel- 
ing as  if  I  had  some  right  to  it. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Would  you  object  to  go  into  a  French  school  as  gover- 
ness? "  he  inquired. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  I  said  eagerly. 

"And  pay  a  small  premium?  "  he  added. 

"  How  much  ?  "  I  asked,  my  spirits  falling  again. 

"  A  mere  trifle,"  he  said ;  "  about  ten  pounds  or  so  for 
twelve  months.  You  would  perfect  yourself  in  French, 
you  know;  and  you  would  gain  a  referee  for  the  future." 

"  I  must  think  about  it,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  there  is  the  address  of  a  lady  who  can  give  you 
all  the  particulars,"  he  said,  handing  me  a  written  paper. 

I  left  the  office  heavy-hearted.  Ten  pounds  would  be 
more  than  the  half  of  the  little  store  left  to  me.  Yet, 
would  it  not  be  wiser  to  secure  a  refuge  and  shelter  for 
twelve  months  than  run  the  risk  of  hearing  of  some  other 
situation?  I  walked  slowly  along  the  street  toward  the 
busier  thoroughfares,  with  my  head  bent  down  and  my 
mind  busy,  when  suddenly  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon 
my  arm,  grasping  it  with  crushing  force,  and  a  harsh,  thick 
voice  shouted  triumphantly  in  my  ear — 

"The  devil!     I've  caught  you  at  last!  " 


396  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

It  was  like  the  bitterness  of  death,  that  chill  and  terror 
sweeping  over  me.  My  husband's  hot  breath  was  upon 
my  cheek,  and  his  eyes  were  looking  closely  into  mine. 
But  before  I  could  speak  his  grasp  was  torn  away  from 
me,  and  he  was  sent  whirling  into  the  middle  of  the  road. 
I  turned,  almost  in  equal  terror,  to  see  who  had  thrust 
himself  between  us.  It  was  the  stranger  whom  I  had  seen 
in  the  agency  office.  But  his  face  was  now  dark  with  pas- 
sion, and  as  my  husband  staggered  back  again  toward  us, 
his  hand  was  ready  to  thrust  him  away  a  second  time. 

"  She's  my  wife,"  he  stammered,  trying  to  get  past  the 
stranger  to  me.  By  this  time  a  knot  of  spectators  had 
formed  about  us,  and  a  policeman  had  come  up.  The 
stranger  drew  my  arm  through  his,  and  faced  them  defi- 
antly. 

"He's  a  drunken  vagabond!"  he  said;  "he  has  just 
come  out  of  those  spirit-vaults.  This  young  lady  is  no 
more  his  wife  than  she  is  mine,  and  I  know  no  more  of 
her  than  that  she  has  just  come  away  from  Ridley's  office, 
where  she  has  been  looking  after  a  situation.  Good 
heavens!  cannot  a  lady  walk  through  the  streets  of 
London  without  being  insulted  by  a  drunken  scoundrel 
like  that?" 

"Will  you  give  him  in  charge,  sir?"  asked  the  police- 
man, while  Richard  Foster  was  making  vain  efforts  to 
speak  coherently,  and  explain  his  claim  upon  me.  I 
clung  to  the  friendly  arm  that  had  come  to  my  aid,  sick 
and  almost  speechless  with  fear. 

"  Shall  I  give  him  in  charge?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  I  have  only  just  heard  of  a  situation,"  I  whispered, 
unable  to  speak  aloud. 

"And  you  are  afraid  of  losing  it?  "  he  said;  "  I  under- 
stand. Take  the  fellow  away,  policeman,  and  lock  him 
up    if  you   can    for   being    drunk   and   disorderly  in   the 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


397 


streets;  but  the  lady  won't  give  him  in  charge.  I've  a 
good  mind  to  make  him  go  down  on  his  knees  and  beg 
her  pardon." 

"  Do,  do!  "  said  two  or  three  voices  in  the  crowd. 

"Don't,"  I  whispered  again,  "oh!  take  me  away 
quickly." 

He  cleared  a  passage  for  us  both  with  a  vigor  and  de- 
cision that  there  was  no  resisting.  I  glanced  back  for  an 
instant,  and  saw  my  husband  struggling  with  the  police- 
man, the  centre  of  the  knot  of  bystanders  from  which  I 
was  escaping.  He  looked  utterly  unlike  a  gay,  prosper- 
ous, wealthy  man,  with  a  well-filled  purse,  such  as  he  had 
used  to  appear.  He  was  shabby  and  poor  enough  now 
for  the  policeman  to  be  very  hard  upon  him,  and  to  pre- 
vent him  from  following  me.  The  stranger  kept  my  hand 
firmly  on  his  arm,  and  almost  carried  me  into  Fleet  Street, 
where  in  a  minute  or  two  we  were  quite  lost  in  the  throng, 
and  I  was  safe  from  all  pursuit. 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  go  on,"  he  said  kindly,  "  come  out 
of  the  noise  a  little." 

He  led  me  down  a  covered  passage  between  two  shops, 
into  a  quiet  cluster  of  squares  and  gardens,  where  only  a 
subdued  murmur  of  the  uproar  of  the  streets  reached  us. 
There  were  sufficient  passers-by  to  prevent  it  seeming 
lonely,  but  we  could  hear  our  own  voices,  and  others', 
even  in  whispers. 

"  This  is  the  Temple,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  a  fit  place  for 
a  sanctuary." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you,"  I  answered  falter- 
ingly. 

"  You  are  trembling  still !  "  he  replied ;  "  how  lucky  it 
was  that  I  followed  you  directly  out  of  Ridley's!  If  I 
ever  come  across  that  scoundrel  again  I  shall  know  him, 
you  may  be  sure.     I  wish  we  were  a  little  nearer  home, 


398  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

you  should  go  in  to  rest ;  but  our  house  is  in  Brook  Street, 
and  we  have  no  women-kind  belonging  to  us.  My  name 
is  John  Senior.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  my  father, 
Dr.  Senior,  of  Brook  Street?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  know  nobody  in  London." 

"  That's  bad,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  I  was  Jane  Senior  in- 
stead of  John  Senior;  I  do  indeed.  Do  you  feel  better 
now,  Miss  Martineau?" 

"  How  do  you  know  my  name?  "  I  asked. 

"The  clerk  at  Ridley's  called  you  Miss  Ellen  Marti- 
neau," he  answered.  "  My  hearing  is  very  good,  and  I 
was  not  deeply  engrossed  in  my  business.  I  heard  and 
saw  a  good  deal  while  I  was  there,  and  I  am  very  glad  I 
heard  and  saw  you.  Do  you  feel  well  enough  now  for 
me  to  see  you  home?  " 

"Oh!  I  cannot  let  you  see  me  home,"  I  said  hurriedly. 

"I  will  do  just  what  you  like  best,"  he  replied.  "I 
have  no  more  right  to  annoy  you  than  that  drunken  vaga- 
bond had.  If  I  did  I  should  be  more  blamable  than  he 
was.  Tell  me  what  I  shall  do  for  you  then.  Shall  I  call 
a  cab?" 

I  hesitated,  for  my  funds  were  low,  and  would  be  almost 
spent  by  the  time  I  had  paid  the  premium,  of  ten  pounds, 
and  my  travelling  expenses ;  yet  I  dared  not  trust  myself 
either  in  the  streets  or  in  an  omnibus.  I  saw  my  new 
friend  regard  me  keenly,  my  dress,  so  worn  and  fadedr 
and  my  old-fashioned  bonnet.  A  smile  flickered  across 
his  face.  He  led  me  back  into  Fleet  Street,  and  called  an 
empty  cab  that  was  passing  by.  We  shook  hands  warmly. 
There  was  no  time  for  loitering;  and  I  told  him  the 
nan.e  of  the  suburb  where  I  was  living,  and  he  repeated 
it  to  the  cabman. 

"All  right,"  he  said  speaking  through  the  window,  "  the 
fare  is  paid,  and  I've  taken  cabby's  number.     If  he  tries 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  399 

to  cheat  you,  let  me  know;  Dr.  John  Senior,  Brook 
Street.  I  hope  that  situation  will  be  a  good  one,  and 
very  pleasant.     Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  I  cried,  leaning  forward  and  looking  at 
his  face  till  the  crowd  came  between  us,  and  I  lost  sight 
of  it.  It  was  a  handsomer  face  than  Dr.  Martin  Dobree's, 
and  had  something  of  the  same  genial,  vivacious  light 
about  it.  I  knew  it  well  afterward,  but  I  had  not  leisure 
to  think  much  of  it  then. 


4oo  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   V. 

BELLRINGER   STREET. 

1WAS  still  trembling  with  the  terror  that  my  meeting 
with  Richard  Forster  had  aroused.  A  painful  shud- 
dering agitated  me,  and  my  heart  fluttered  with  an  excess 
of  fear  which  I  could  not  conquer.  I  could  still  feel  his 
grasp  upon  my  arm,  where  the  skin  was  black  with  the 
mark ;  and  there  was  before  my  eyes  the  sight  of  his  hag- 
gard and  enraged  face,  as  he  struggled  to  get  free  from 
the  policeman.  When  he  was  sober  would  he  recollect 
all  that  had  taken  place,  and  go  to  make  inquiries  after 
me  at  Ridley's  Agency  Office?  Dr.  John  Senior  had  said 
he  had  followed  me  from  there.  I  scarcely  believed  he 
would.  Yet  there  was  a  chance  of  it,  a  deadly  chance 
to  me.  If  so,  the  sooner  I  could  fly  from  London  and 
England  the  better. 

I  felt  safer  when  the  cabman  set  me  down  at  the  house 
where  I  lodged,  and  I  ran  up-stairs  to  my  little  room.  I 
kindled  the  fire,  which  had  gone  out  during  my  absence, 
and  set  my  little  tin  tea-kettle  upon  the  first  clear  flame 
which  burned  up  amid  the  coal.  Then  I  sat  down  on 
my  box  before  it,  thinking. 

Yes ;  I  must  leave  London.  I  must  take  this  situation, 
the  only  one  open  to  me,  in  a  school  in  France.  I  should 
at  least  be  assured  of  a  home  for  twelve  months ;  and,  as 
the  clerk  had  said,  I  should  perfect  myself  in  French  and 
gain  a  referee.  I  should  be  earning  a  character,  in  fact. 
At  present  I  had  none,  and  so  was  poorer  than  the  poor- 
est servant-maid.     No  character,  no  name,  no  money; 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


40: 


who  could  be  poorer  than  the  daughter  of  the  wealthy 
colonist,  who  had  owned  thousands  of  acres  in  Adelaide? 
I  almost  laughed  and  cried  hysterically,  at  the  thought  of 
my  father's  vain  care  and  provision  for  my  future. 

But  the  sooner  I  fled  from  London  again,  the  better, 
now  that  I  knew  my  husband  was  somewhere  in  it,  and 
might  be  upon  my  track.  I  unfolded  the  paper  on  which 
was  written  the  name  of  the  lady  to  whom  I  was  to  apply. 
Mrs.  Wilkinson,  19  Bellringer  Street.  I  ran  down  to  the 
sitting-room,  to  ask  my  landlady  where  it  was,  and  told 
her,  in  my  new  hopefulness,  that  I  had  heard  of  a  situa- 
tion in  France.  Bellringer  Street  was  less  than  a  mile 
away  she  said.  I  could  be  there  before  seven  o'clock, 
not  too  late  perhaps  for  Mrs.  Wilkinson  to  give  me  an 
interview. 

A  thick  yellow  fog  had  come  in  with  nightfall — a  fog 
that  could  almost  be  tasted  and  smelt — but  it  did  not 
deter  me  from  my  object.  I  inquired  my  way  of  every 
policeman  I  met,  and  at  length  entered  the  street.  The 
fog  hid  the  houses  from  my  view,  but  I  could  see  that 
some  of  the  lower  windows  were  filled  with  articles  for 
sale,  as  if  they  were  shops  struggling  into  existence.  It 
was  not  a  fashionable  street,  and  Mrs.  Wilkinson  could 
not  be  a  very  aristocratic  person. 

No.  19  was  not  difficult  to  find,  and  I  pulled  the  bell- 
handle  with  a  gentle  and  quiet  pull,  befitting  my  errand. 
I  repeated  this  several  times  without  being  admitted, 
when  it  struck  me  that  the  wire  might  be  broken.  Upon 
that  I  knocked  as  loudly  as  I  could  upon  the  panels  of 
the  broad  old  door;  a  handsome,  heavy  door,  such  as  are 
to  be  found  in  the  old  streets  of  London,  from  which  the 
tide  of  fashion  had  ebbed  away.  A  slight,  thin  child  in 
rusty  mourning  opened  it,  with  the  chain  across,  and 
asked  who  I  was  in  a  timid  tone. 
26 


4-02 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"Dees  Mrs.  Wilkinson  live  here?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  child. 

"Who  is  there?"  I  heard  a  voice  calling  shrilly  from 
within ;  not  an  English  voice,  I  felt  sure,  for  each  word 
was  uttered  distinctly  and  slowly. 

"  I  am  come  about  a  school  in  France,"  I  said  to  the 
child. 

"Oh!  I'll  let  you  come  in,"  she  answered  eagerly; 
"she  will  see  you  about  that,  I'm  sure.  I'm  to  go  with 
you,  if  you  go." 

She  let  down  the  chain  and  opened  the  door.  There 
was  a  dim  light  burning  in  the  hall,  which  looked  shabby 
and  poverty-stricken.  There  was  no  carpet  upon  the 
broad  staircase,  and  only  a  worn  out  oil-cloth  on  the  floor. 
I  had  only  time  to  take  in  a  vague  general  impression, 
before  the  little  girl  conducted  me  to  a  room  on  the 
ground  floor.  That  too  was  uncarpeted  and  barely  fur- 
nished ;  but  the  light  was  low,  and  I  could  see  nothing 
distinctly,  except  the  face  of  the  child  looking  wistfully 
at  me  with  shy  curiosity. 

"  I'm  to  go  if  you  go,"  she  said  again;  "and,  oh!  I  do 
so  hope  you  will  agree  to  go." 

"  I  think  I  shall."  I  answered. 

"  I  daren't  be  sure,"  she  replied,  nodding  her  head 
with  an  air  of  sagacity;  "there  have  been  four  or  five 
governesses  here,  and  none  of  them  would  go.  You'd 
have  to  take  me  with  you;  and,  oh!  it  is  such  a  lovely, 
beautiful  place.     See!  here  is  a  picture  of  it." 

She  ran  eagerly  to  a  side-table,  on  which  lay  a  book  or 
two,  one  of  which  she  opened,  and  reached  out  a  photo- 
graph, which  had  been  laid  there  for  security.  When  she 
brought  it  to  me,  she  stood  leaning  lightly  against  me  as 
we  both  looked  at  the  same  picture.  It  was  a  clear, 
sharply  defined  photograph,   with  shadows  so  dark  yet 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


403 


distinct  as  to  show  the  clearness  of  the  atmosphere  in 
which  it  had  been  taken.  At  the  left  hand  stood  a  hand- 
some house,  with  windows  covered  with  lace  curtains,  and 
provided  with  outer  Venetian  shutters.  In  the  centre 
stood  a  large  square  garden,  with  fountains,  and  arbors, 
and  statues,  in  the  French  style  of  gardening,  evidently 
well  kept ;  and  behind  this  stood  a  long  building  of  two 
stories,  and  a  steep  roof  with  dormer-windows,  every 
casement  of  which  was  provided,  like  the  house  in  the 
front,  with  rich  lace  curtains  and  Venetian  shutters.  The 
whole  place  was  clearly  in  good  order  and  good  taste, 
and  looked  like  a  very  pleasant  home.  It  would  probably 
be  my  home  for  a  time,  and  I  scrutinized  it  the  more 
closely.  Which  of  those  sunny  casements  would  be  mine? 
What  nook  in  that  garden  would  become  my  favorite? 
If  I  could  only  get  there  undetected,  how  secure  and 
happy  I  might  be! 

Above  the  photograph  was  written  in  ornamental  char- 
acters, "  Pensionnat  de  DemoiseHes,  a  Noireau,  Calvados." 
Underneath  it  were  the  words,  "Fonde  par  Me.  Emile 
Perrier,  avocat,  et  par  son  epouse."  Though  I  knew  very 
little  of  French,  I  could  make  out  the  meaning  of  these 
sentences.  Monsieur  Perrier  was  an  avocat.  Tardif  had 
happened  to  speak  to  me  about  the  notaries  in  Guernsey, 
who  appeared  to  me  to  be  of  the  same  rank  as  our  soli- 
citors, while  the  avocats  were  on  a  par  with  our  barristers. 
A  barrister  founding  a  boarding-school  for  young  ladies 
might  be  somewhat  opposed  to  English  customs,  but  it 
insured  his  being  a  man  of  education  and  position. 

"Isn't  it  a  lovely  place?"  asked  the  child  beside  me, 
with  a  deep  sigh  of  longing. 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "I  should  like  to  go." 

I  had  had  time  to  make  all  these  observations  before 
the  owner  of  the  foreign  voice,  which  I  had  heard  at  the 


404  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

door,  came  in.  At  the  first  glance  I  knew  her  to  be  a 
Frenchwoman,  with  the  peculiar  yellow  tone  in  her  skin 
which  seems  inevitable  in  middle-aged  Frenchwomen. 
Her  black  eyes  were  steady  and  cold,  and  her  general  ex- 
pression one  of  watchfulness.  She  had  wrapped  tightly 
about  her  a  China  crape  shawl,  which  had  once  been 
white,  but  had  now  the  same  yellow  tint  as  her  complex- 
ion. The  light  was  low,  but  she  turned  it  a  little  higher, 
and  scrutinized  me  with  a  keen  and  steady  gaze. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  knowing  you,"  she  said 
politely. 

"  I  come  from  Ridley's  Agency  Office,"  I  answered, 
"  about  a  situation  as  English  teacher  in  a  school  in 
France." 

"  Be  seated,  miss,"  she  said,  pointing  me  to  a  stiff,  high- 
backed  chair,  whither  the  little  girl  followed  me,  stroking 
with  her  hand  the  soft  sealskin  jacket  I  was  wearing. 

"  It  is  a  great  chance,"  she  continued ;  "  my  friend, 
Madame  Perrier,  is  very  good,  very  amiable  for  her 
teachers.  She  is  like  a  sister  for  them.  The  terms  are 
very  high,  very  high  in  France ;  but  there  is  absolutely 
every  comfort.  The  arrangements  are  precisely  like 
England.  She  has  lived  in  England  for  two  years,  and 
knows  what  English  young  ladies  look  for;  and  the  house 
is  positively  English.  I  suppose  you  could  introduce  a 
few  English  pupils." 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  afraid  I  could  not.  I  am 
sure  I  could  not." 

"  That  of  course  must  be  considered  in  the  premium," 
she  continued;  "if  you  could  have  introduced,  say,  six 
pupils,  the  premium  would  be  low.  I  do  not  think  my 
friend  would  take  one  penny  less  than  twenty  pounds  for 
the  first  year,  and  ten  for  the  second." 

The  tears  started  to  my  eyes.     I  had  felt  so  sure  of 


I 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


405 


going  if  I  would  pay  ten  pounds,  that  I  was  quite  unpre- 
pared for  this  disappointment.  There  was  still  my  dia- 
mond ring  left ;  but  how  to  dispose  of  it,  for  anything  like 
its  value,  I  did  not  know.  It  was  in  my  purse  now,  with 
all  my  small  store  of  money,  which  I  dared  to  leave  be- 
hind me  in  my  lodgings. 

"What  were  you  prepared  to  give?"  asked  Mrs.  Wil- 
kinson, while  I  hesitated. 

"The  clerk  at  Ridley's  office  told  me  the  premium 
would  be  ten  pounds,"  I  answered:  "I  do  not  see  how 
I  can  give  more." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  after  musing  a  little,  while  I  watched 
her  face  anxiously,  "  it  is  time  this  child  went.  She  has 
been  here  a  month,  waiting  for  somebody  to  take  her 
down  to  Noireau.  I  will  agree  with  you,  and  will  explain 
it  to  Madame  Perrier.     How  soon  could  you  go?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to-morrow,"  I  replied,  feeling  that 
the  sooner  I  quitted  London  the  better.  Mrs.  Wilkinson's 
steady  eyes  fastened  upon  me  again  with  sharp  curiosity. 

"It  will  be  necessary,"  she  said,  "for  you  to  give  the 
money  to  me,  and  I  will  forward  it  to  Madame  Perrier. 
Pardon,  miss,  but  you  perceive  I  could  not  send  a  teacher 
to  them  unless  I  knew  that  she  could  pay  the  money 
down.  There  is  my  commission  to  receive  money  for  my 
friend." 

She  gave  me  a  paper  written  in  French,  of  which  I 
could  read  enough  to  see  that  it  was  a  sort  of  official 
warrant  to  receive  accounts  for  Monsieur  Perrier,  avocat, 
and  his  wife.  I  did  not  waver  any  longer.  The  prospect 
seemed  too  promising  for  me  to  lose  it  by  any  irresolution. 
I  drew  out  my  purse,  and  laid  down  two  out  of  the  three 
five-pound  notes  left  me.  She  gave  me  a  formal  receipt 
in  the  names  of  Emile  and  Louise  Perrier,  and  the  sober 
face  wore  an  expression  of  satisfaction. 


406  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"There!  it  is  done,"  she  said,  wiping  her  pen  care- 
fully. "  You  will  take  lessons,  any  lessons  you  please, 
from  the  professors  who  attend  the  school.  It  is  a  grand 
chance,  miss,  a  grand  chance.  Let  us  say  you  go  the 
day  after  to-morrow;  the  child  will  be  quite  ready.  She 
is  going  for  four  years  to  that  splendid  place,  a  place  for 
ladies  of  the  highest  degree." 

At  that  moment  an  imperious  knock  sounded  upon  the 
outer  door,  and  the  little  girl  ran  to  answer  it,  leaving  the 
door  of  our  room  open.  A  voice  which  I  knew  well,  a 
voice  which  made  my  heart  stand  still  and  my  veins  curdle, 
spoke  in  sharp  loud  tones  in  the  hall. 

"Is  Mr.  Foster  come  home  yet?"  were  the  words  the 
terrible  voice  uttered,  quite  close  to  me  it  seemed;  so 
close  that  I  shrank  back  shivering,  as  if  the  syllables 
struck  me.  All  my  senses  were  awake ;  I  could  hear  every 
sound  in  the  hall,  each  step  that  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
Was  she  about  to  enter  the  room  where  I  was  sitting? 
She  stood  still  for  half  a  minute  as  if  uncertain  what  to  do. 

"  He  is  up-stairs,"  said  the  child's  voice.  "  He  told  me 
he  was  ill  when  I  opened  the  door  for  him." 

Then  the  woman's  footsteps  went  on  up  the  staircase. 
I  listened  to  them  climbing  up  one  step  after  another,  my 
brain  throbbing  with  each  sound,  and  I  heard  a  door 
opened  and  closed.  Mrs.  Wilkinson  had  gone  to  the 
door,  and  looked  out  into  the  hall,  as  if  expecting  some 
other  questions  to  be  asked.  She  had  not  seen  my  panic 
of  despair.  I  must  get  away  before  I  lost  the  use  of  my 
senses,  for  I  felt  giddy  and  faint. 

"  I  will  send  the  child  to  you  in  a  cab  on  Wednesday," 
she  said,  as  I  stood  up  and  made  my  way  toward  the  hall ; 
"you  have  not  told  me  your  address." 

I  paused  for  a  moment.  Dared  I  tell  her  my  address? 
Yet  my  money  was  paid,  and  if  I  did  not,  I  should  lose 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


407 


both  it  and  the  refuge  I  had  bought  with  it.  I  should 
awaken  suspicion  and  inquiry  by  silence.  It  was  a  fearful 
risk  to  run ;  yet  it  seemed  safer  than  a  precipitous  retreat. 
I  gave  her  my  address,  and  saw  her  write  it  down  on  a 
slip  of  paper. 

As  I  returned  to  my  lodgings  I  grew  calmer  and  more 
hopeful.  It  was  not  likely  that  my  husband  would  see 
the  address  or  even  hear  that  any  one  like  me  had  been 
at  the  house.  I  did  not  suppose  he  would  know  the  name 
of  Martineau  as  my  mother's  maiden  name.  As  far  as  I 
recollected,  I  had  never  spoken  of  her  to  him.  More- 
over, he  was  not  a  man  to  make  himself  at  all  pleasant 
and  familiar  with  persons  whom  h^  looked  upon  as  in- 
feriors. It  was  highly  improbable  that  he  would  enter 
into  any  conversation  with  his  landlady.  If  that  woman 
did  so,  all  she  would  learn  would  be  that  a  young  lady, 
whose  name  was  Martineau,  had  taken  a  situation  as 
English  teacher  in  a  French  school.  What  could  there 
be  in  that  to  make  her  think  of  me? 

I  tried  to  soothe  and  reassure  myself  with  these  reason- 
ings, but  I  could  not  be  quiet  or  at  peace.  I  watched  all 
through  the  next  day,  listening  to  every  sound  in  the  house 
below;  but  no  new  terror  assailed  me.  The  second  night 
I  was  tranquil  enough  to  sleep. 


4o8  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

LEAVING    ENGLAND. 

1WAS  on  the  rack  all  the  next  day.  It  was  the  last 
day  I  should  be  in  England,  and  I  had  a  nervous 
dread  of  being  detained.  If  I  should  once  more  succeed 
in  quitting  the  country  undetected,  it  seemed  as  though  I 
might  hope  to  be  in  safety  in  Calvados.  Of  Calvados  I 
knew  even  less  than  of  the  Channel  Islands ;  I  had  never 
heard  the  name  before.  But  Mrs.  Wilkinson  had  given 
me  the  route  by  which  we  were  to  reach  Noireau:  by 
steamer  to  Havre,  across  the  mouth  of  the  Seine  to  Hon- 
fleur,  to  Falaise  by  train,  and  finally  from  Falaise  to 
Noireau  by  omnibus.  It  was  an  utterly  unknown  region 
to  me;  and  I  had  no  reason  to  imagine  that  Richard 
Foster  was  more  acquainted  with  it  than  I.  My  anxiety 
was  simply  to  get  clear  away. 

In  the  afternoon  the  little  girl  arrived  quite  alone,  ex- 
cept that  a  man  had  been  hired  to  carry  a  small  box  for 
her,  and  to  deliver  her  into  my  charge.  This  was  a  great 
relief  to  me,  and  I  paid  the  shilling  he  demanded  gladly. 
The  child  was  thinly  and  shabbily  dresssed  for  our  long 
journey,  and  there  was  a  forlorn  loneliness  about  her  posi- 
tion, left  thus  with  a  stranger,  which  touched  me  to  the 
heart.  We  were  alike  poor,  helpless,  friendless— rl  was 
about  to  say  childish  and  in  truth  I  was  in  many  things 
little  more  than  a  child  still.  The  small  elf,  with  her 
sharp,  large  eyes,  which  were  too  big  for  her  thin  face, 
crept  up  to  me,  as  the  man  slammed  the  door  after  him 
and  clattered  noisily  down-stairs. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


409 


"  I'm  so  glad!  "  she  said  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh  of  re- 
lief; "I  was  afraid  I  should  never  go,  and  school  is  such 
a  heavenly  place!  " 

The  words  amused  yet  troubled  me ;  they  were  so  dif- 
ferent from  a  child's  ordinary  opinion. 

"  It's  such  a  hateful  place  at  Mrs.  Wilkinson's,"  she 
went  on,  "everybody  calling  me  at  once,  and  scolding 
me ;  and  there  are  so  many  people  to  run  errands  for. 
You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  run  errands  when  you  are 
tired  to  death.  And  it's  such  a  beautiful,  splendid  place 
where  we're  going  to!  " 

"What  is  your  name,  my  dear?  "  I  asked,  sitting  down 
on  my  box  and  taking  her  on  my  lap.  Such  a  thin, 
stunted  little  woman,  precociously  learned  in  trouble! 
Yet  she  nestled  in  my  arms  like  a  true  child,  and  a  tear 
or  two  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  as  if  from  very  content- 
ment. 

"  Nobody  has  nursed  me  like  this  since  mother  died," 
she  said.  "  I'm  Mary ;  but  father  always  called  me 
Minima,  because  I  was  the  least  in  the  house.  He  kept 
a  boy's  school  out  of  London,  in  Epping  Forest,  you 
know;  and  it  was  so  heavenly!  All  the  boys  were  good 
to  me,  and  we  used  to  call  father  Dominie.  Then  he 
died,  and  mother  died  just  before  him;  and  he  said, 
*  Courage,  Minima!  God  will  take  care  of  my  little  girl.' 
So  the  boys'  fathers  and  mothers  made  a  subscription  for 
me,  and  they  got  a  great  deal  of  money,  a  hundred  pounds ; 
and  somebody  told  them  about  this  school,  where  I  can 
stay  four  years  for  a  hundred  pounds,  and  they  all  said 
that  was  the  best  thing  they  could  do  with  me.  But  I've 
had  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Wilkinson  nearly  two  months,  be- 
cause she  could  not  find  a  governess  to  go  with  me.  I 
hate  her;  I  detest  her;  I  should  like  to  spit  at  her!  " 

The  little  face  was  all  aflame,  and  the  large  eyes  burning. 


4i o  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"Hush!  hush!"  I  said,  drawing  her  head  down  upon 
my  shoulder  again. 

"  Then  there  is  Mr.  Foster,"  she  continued,  almost  sob- 
bing; "he  torments  me  so.  He  likes  to  make  fun  of  me, 
and  tease  me,  till  I  can't  bear  to  go  into  his  room.  Father 
used  to  say  it  was  wicked  to  hate  anybody,  and  I  didn't 
hate  anybody  then,  I  was  so  happy.  But  you'd  hate  Mr. 
Foster,  and  Mrs.  Foster,  if  you  only  knew  them." 

"  Why? "  I  asked  in  a  whisper.  My  voice  sounded 
husky  to  me,  and  my  throat  felt  parched.  The  child's 
impotent  rage  and  hatred  struck  a  slumbering  chord 
within  me. 

"Oh!  they  are  horrid  in  every  way,"  she  said,  with 
emphasis;  "  they  frighten  me.  He  is  fond  of  tormenting 
anything,  because  he's  cruel.  We  had  a  cruel  boy  in  our 
school  once,  so  I  know.  But  they  are  very  poor — poor  as 
Job,  Mrs.  Wilkinson  says,  and  I'm  glad.  Aren't  you 
glad? 

The  question  jarred  in  my  memory  against  a  passionate 
craving  after  revenge,  which  had  died  away  in  the  quiet 
and  tranquillity  of  Sark.  A  year  ago  I  should  have  re- 
joiced in  any  measure  of  punishment  or  retribution,  which 
had  overtaken  those  who  had  destroyed  my  happiness. 
But  it  was  not  so  now;  or  perhaps  I  should  rather  own 
that  it  was  only  faintly  so.  It  had  never  occurred  to  me 
that  my  flight  would  plunge  him  into  poverty  similar  to 
my  own.  But  now  that  the  idea  was  thrust  upon  me,  I 
wondered  how  I  could  have  overlooked  this  necessary 
consequence  of  my  conduct.  Ought  I  to  do  anything  for 
him?     Was  there  anything  I  could  do  to  help  him? 

"  He  is  ill,  too,"  pursued  the  child ;  "  I  heard  him  say 
once  to  Mrs.  Foster,  he  knew  he  should  die  like  a  dog.  I 
was  a  little  tiny  bit  sorry  for  him  then ;  for  nobody  would 
like  to  die  like  a  dog,  and  not  go  to  heaven,  you  know. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


411 


But  I  don't  care  now,  I  shall  never  see  them  again — 
never,  never!  I  could  jump  out  of  my  skin  for  joy.  I 
shan't  even  know  when  he  is  dead,  if  he  does  die  like  a 
dog." 

111!  dead!  My  heart  beat  faster  and  faster  as  I  pon- 
dered over  these  words.  Then  I  should  be  free  indeed ; 
his  death  would  release  me  from  bondage,  from  terror, 
from  poverty — those  three  evils  which  dogged  my  steps. 
I  had  never  ventured  to  let  my  thoughts  run  that  way, 
but  this  child's  prattling  had  forced  them  into  it.  Richard 
Foster  ill — dying!     O  God!  what  ought  I  to  do? 

I  could  not  make  myself  known  to  him;  that  was  im- 
possible. I  would  ten  thousand  times  sooner  die  myself 
than  return  to  him.  He  was  not  alone  either.  But  there 
came  back  to  my  mind  the  first  days  when  I  knew  him, 
when  he  was  all  tenderness,  devoted  to  me ;  declaring 
that  he  could  find  no  fault  in  his  girl-wife.  How  happy  I 
had  been  for  a  little  while,  exchanging  my  step-mother's 
harshness  for  his  indulgence!  He  might  have  won  my 
love ;  he  had  almost  won  it.  But  that  happy,  golden  time 
was  gone,  and  could  never  come  back  to  me.  Yet  my 
heart  was  softened  toward  him  as  I  thought  of  him  ill, 
perhaps  dying.  What  could  I  do  for  him,  without  placing 
myself  in  his  power? 

There  was  one  thing  only  that  I  could  do,  only  one 
little  sacrifice  I  could  make  for  him  whom  I  had  vowed, 
in  childish  ignorance,  to  love,  honor,  and  cherish  in  sick- 
ness and  in  health,  until  death  parted  us.  A  home  was 
secured  to  me  for  twelve  months,  and  at  the  end  of  that 
time  I  should  have  a  better  career  open  to  me.  I  had 
enough  money  still  to  last  me  until  then.  My  diamond 
ring,  which  had  been  his  own  gift  to  me  on  our  wedding- 
day,  would  be  valuable  to  him.  Sixty  pounds  would  be  a 
help  to  him,  if  he  were  as  poor  as  this  child  said.     He 


412  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

must  be  poor,  or  he  would  never  have  gone  to  live  in  that 
mean  street  and  neighborhood. 

Perhaps — if  he  had  been  alone — I  do  not  know,  but 
possibly  if  he  had  been  quite  alone,  ill,  dying  in  that  poor 
lodging  of  his,  I  might  have  gone  to  him.  I  ask  myself 
again,  Could  you  have  done  this  thing?  Poor  and  ill  he 
was,  but  he  was  not  alone. 

It  was  enough  for  me,  then,  that  I  could  do  something, 
some  little  service  for  him.  The  old  flame  of  vengeance 
had  no  spark  of  heat  left  in  it.  I  was  free  from  hatred  of 
him.  I  set  the  child  gently  away  from  me,  and  wrote  my 
last  letter  to  my  husband.  Both  the  letter  and  the  ring  I 
inclosed  in  a  little  box.  These  are  the  words  I  wrote, 
and  T  put  neither  date  nor  name  of  place. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  poor,  and  I  send  you  all  I  can 
spare — the  ring  you  once  gave  to  me.  I  am  even  poorer 
than  yourself,  but  I  have  just  enough  for  my  immediate 
wants.     I  forgive  you,  as  I  trust  God  forgives  me." 

I  sat  looking  at  it,  thinking  of  it  for  some  time.  There 
was  a  vague  doubt  somewhere  in  my  mind  that  this  might 
work  some  mischief.  But  at  last  I  decided  that  it  should 
go.  I  must  register  the  packet  at  a  post-office  on  our  way 
to  the  station,  and  it  could  not  fail  to  reach  him. 

This  business  settled,-  I  returned  to  the  child,  who  was 
sitting,  as  I  had  so  often  done,  gazing  pensively  into  the 
fire.     Was  she  to  be  a  sort  of  miniature  copy  of  myself? 

"  Come,  Minima,"  I  said,  "  we  must  be  thinking  of  tea. 
Which  would  you  like  best,  buns,  or  cake,  or  bread  and 
butter?  We  must  go  out  and  buy  them,  and  you  shall 
choose." 

"Which  would  cost  the  most?"  she  asked,  looking  at 
me  with  the  careworn  expression  of  a  woman.  The  ques- 
tion sounded  so  oddly,  coming  from  lips  so  young,  that 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


413 


it  grieved  me.  How  bitterly  and  heavily  must  the  burden 
of  poverty  have  already  fallen  upon  this  child!  I  was 
almost  afraid  to  think  what  it  must  mean.  I  put  my  arm 
round  her,  pressing  my  cheek  against  hers,  while  childish 
visions,  more  childish  than  any  in  this  little  head,  flitted 
before  me,  of  pantomimes,  and  toys,  and  sweetmeats,  and 
the  thousand  things  that  children  love.  If  I  had  been  as 
rich  as  my  father  had  planned  for  me  to  be,  how  I  would 
have  lavished  them  upon  this  anxious  little  creature ! 

We  were  discussing  this  question  with  befitting  gravity, 
when  a  great  thump  against  the  door  brought  a  host  of 
fears  upon  me.  But  before  I  could  stir  the  insecure 
handle  gave  way,  and  no  one  more  formidable  appeared 
than  the  landlady  of  the  house,  carrying  before  her  a  tray, 
on  which  was  set  out  a  sumptuous  tea,  consisting  of  but- 
tered crumpets  and  shrimps.  She  put  it  down  on  my 
dressing-table,  and  stood  surveying  it  and  us  with  an  ex- 
pression of  benign  exultation,  until  she  had  recovered  her 
breath  sufficiently  to  speak. 

"  Those  as  are  going  into  foring  parts,"  she  said,  "  ought 
to  get  a  good  English  meal  afore  they  start.  If  you  was 
going  to  stay  in  England,  miss,  it  would  be  quite  a  differ- 
ent thing;  but  me  and  my  master  don't  know  what  they 
may  give  you  to  eat  where  you're  going  to.  Therefore 
we  beg  you'll  accept  of  the  crumpets,  and  the  shrimps, 
and  the  bread  and  butter,  and  the  tea,  and  everything; 
and  we  mean  no  offence  by  it.  You've  been  a  very  quiet, 
reg'lar  lodger,  and  give  no  trouble;  and  we're  sorry  to 
lose  you.  And  this,  my  master  says,  is  a  testimonial  to 
you." 

I  could  hardly  control  my  laughter,  and  I  could  not 
keep  back  my  tears.  It  was  a  long  time  now  since  any 
one  had  shown  me  so  much  kindness  and  sympathy  as 
this.     The  dull  face  of  the  good  woman  was  brightened 


414 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


by  her  kind-hearted  feeling,  and  instead  of  thanking  her 
I  put  my  lips  to  her  cheek. 

"  Lor !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  why !  God  bless  you,  my 
dear!  I  didn't  mean  any  offence,  you  know.  Lor!  I 
never  thought  you'd  pay  me  like  that.  It's  very  pretty 
of  you,  it  is;  for  I'm  sure  you're  a  lady  to  the  back-bone, 
as  often  and  often  I've  said  to  my  master.  Be  good 
enough  to  eat  it  all,  you  and  the  little  miss,  for  you've  a 
long  journey  before  you.  God  bless  you  both,  my  dears, 
and  give  you  a  good  appetite." 

She  backed  out  of  the  room  as  she  was  speaking,  her 
face  beaming  upon  us  to  the  last. 

There  was  a  pleasant  drollery  about  her  conduct,  and 
about  the  intense  delight  of  the  child,  and  her  hearty  en- 
joyment of  the  feast,  which  for  the  time  effectually  dis- 
sipated my  fears  and  my  melancholy  thoughts.  It  was 
the  last  hour  I  should  spend  in  my  solitary  room ;  my  lonely 
days  were  past.  This  little  elf,  with  her  large  sharp  eyes, 
and  sagacious  womanly  face,  was  to  be  my  companion  for 
the  future.  I  felt  closely  drawn  to  her.  Even  the  hungry 
appetite  with  which  she  ate  spoke  of  the  hard  times  she 
had  gone  through.  When  she  had  eaten  all  she  could 
eat,  I  heard  her  say  softly  to  herself,    '  Courage,  Minima! '' 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  415 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A    LONG   JOURNEY. 

IT  was  little  more  than  twelve  months  since  I  had 
started  from  the  same  station  on  the  same  route;  but 
there  was  no  Tardif  at  hand  now.  As  I  went  into  the 
ticket-office,  Minima  caught  me  by  the  dress,  and  whis- 
pered earnestly  into  my  ear: 

"  We're  not  to  travel  first-class,"  she  said ;  "  it  costs  too 
much.  Mrs.  Wilkinson  said  we  ought  to  go  third,  if  we 
could ;  and  you're  to  pay  for  me,  please,  only  half-price, 
and  they'll  pay  you  again  when  we  reach  the  school.  I'll 
come  with  you,  and  then  they'll  see  I'm  only  half-price. 
I  don't  look  too  old,  do  I  ?  " 

"  You  look  very  old,"  I  answered,  smiling  at  her  anx- 
ious face. 

"Oh,  dear,  dear!"  she  said;  "but  I  sit  very  small. 
Perhaps  I'd  better  not  come  to  the  ticket-office ;  the  por- 
ters are  sure  to  think  me  only  a  little  girl." 

She  was  uneasy  until  we  had  fairly  started  from  the 
station,  her  right  to  a  half-ticket  unchallenged. 

The  November  night  was  cold  and  foggy,  and  there 
was  little  difference  between  the  darkness  of  the  suburbs 
and  the  darkness  of  the  open  country. 

Once  again  the  black  hulls  and  masts  of  two  steamers 
stood  before  us,  at  the  end  of  our  journey,  and  hurrying 
voices  shouted,  "  This  way  for  the  Channel  Islands," 
"This  way  to  Havre."  What  would  1  not  have  given  to 
return  to  Sark,  to  my  quiet  room  under  Tardif's  roof,  with 


4i6  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

his  true  heart  and  steadfast  friendship  to  rest  upon!  But 
that  could  not  be.  My  feet  were  setting  out  upon  a  new 
track,  and  I  did  not  know  where  the  hidden  path  would 
lead  me. 

The  next  morning  found  us  in  France.  It  was  a  soft, 
sunny  day,  with  a  mellow  light,  which  seemed  to  dwell 
fondly  on  the  many-tinted  leaves  of  the  trees  which  cov- 
ered the  banks  of  the  Seine.  From  Honfleur  to  Falaise 
the  same  warm,  genial  sunshine  filled  the  air.  The  slowly 
moving  train  carried  us  through  woods  where  the  autumn 
seemed  but  a  few  days  old,  and  where  the  slender  leaflets 
of  the  acacias  still  fluttered  in  the  caressing  breath  of  the 
wind.  We  passed  through  miles  upon  miles  of  orchards, 
where  a  few  red  leaves  were  hanging  yet  upon  the  knotted 
branches  of  the  apple-trees,  beneath  which  lay  huge  pyr- 
amids of  apples.  Truck-loads  of  them  stood  at  every 
station.  The  air  was  scented  with  them.  Children  were 
pelting  one  another  with  them ;  and  here  and  there,  where 
the  orchards  had  been  cleared  and  the  trees  stripped, 
flocks  of  geese  were  searching  for  those  scattered  among 
the  tufts  of  grass.  The  roses  were  in  blossom,  and  the 
chrysanthemums  were  in  their  first  glory.  The  few  coun- 
trywomen who  got  into  our  carriage  were  still  wearing 
their  snowy  muslin  caps,  as  in  summer.  Nobody  ap- 
peared cold  and  pinched  yet,  and  everybody  was  living 
out  of  doors. 

It  was  almost  like  going  into  a  new  world,  and  I 
breathed  more  freely  the  further  we  travelled  down  into 
the  interior.  At  Falaise  we  exchanged  the  train  for  a 
small  omnibus,  which  bore  the  name  "  Noireau  "  conspic- 
uously on  its  door.  I  had  discovered  that  the  little  French 
I  knew  was  not  of  much  service,  as  I  could  in  no  way 
understand  the  rapid  answers  that  were  given  to  my  ques- 
tions.    A  woman  came  to  us,  at  the  door  of  a  cafe  where 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  417 

the  omnibus  stopped  in  Falaise,  and  made  a  long  and 
earnest  harangue,  of  '  which  I  did  not  recognize  one 
word.  At  length  we  started  off  on  the  last  stage  of  our 
journey. 

Where  could  we  be  going  to?  I  began  to  ask  myself 
the  question  anxiously  after  we  had  crept  on,  at  a  dog- 
trot, for  what  seemed  an  interminable  time.  We  had 
passed  through  long  avenues  of  trees,  and  across  a  series 
of  wide,  flat  plains,  and  down  gently  sloping  roads  into 
narrow  valleys,  and  up  the  opposite  ascents;  and  still  the 
bells  upon  the  horses'  collars  jingled  sleepily,  and  their 
hoof-beats  shambled  along  the  roads.  We  were  seldom 
in  sight  of  any  house,  and  we  passed  through  very  few 
villages.  I  felt  as  if  we  were  going  all  the  way  to  Mar- 
seilles. 

"I'm  so  hungry!"  said  Minima,  after  a  very  long 
silence. 

I  too  had  been  hungry  for  an  hour  or  two  past.  We 
had  breakfasted  at  midday  at  one  of  the  stations,  but  we 
had  had  nothing  to  eat  since,  except  a  roll  which  Minima 
had  brought  away  from  breakfast,  with  wise  prevision; 
but  this  had  disappeared  long  ago. 

"  Try  to  go  to  sleep,"  I  said ;  "  lean  against  me.  We 
must  be  there  soon." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "and  it's  such  a  splendid  school! 
I'm  going  to  stay  there  four  years,  you  know,  so  it's  foolish 
to  mind  being  hungry  now.  '  Courage,  Minima! '  I  must 
recollect  that." 

"  Courage,  Olivia !  "  I  repeated  to  myself.  "  The  farther 
you  go,  the  more  secure  will  be  your  hiding-place."  The 
child  nestled  against  me,  and  soon  fell  asleep.  I  went  to 
sleep  myself — an  unquiet  slumber,  broken  by  terrifying 
dreams.  Sometimes  I  was  falling  from  the  cliffs  in  Sark 
into  the  deep,  transparent  waters  below,  where  the  sharp 
27 


4i 8  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

rocks  lay  like  swords.  Then  I  was  in  the  Gouliot  Caves, 
with  Martin  Dobree  at  my  side,  and  the  tide  was  coming 
in  too  strongly  for  us ;  and  beyond,  in  the  opening  through 
which  we  might  have  escaped,  my  husband's  face  looked 
in  at  us,  with  a  hideous  delight.  I  woke  at  last,  shivering 
with  cold  and  dread,  for  I  had  fancied  that  he  had  found 
me,  and  was  carrying  me  away  again  to  his  old  hateful 
haunts. 

Our  omnibus  was  jolting  and  rumbling  down  some  steep 
and  narrow  streets,  lighted  by  oil-lamps  swung  across 
them.  There  were  no  lights  in  any  of  the  houses,  save  a 
few  in  the  upper  windows,  as  though  the  inmates  were  all 
in  bed,  or  going  to  bed.  Only  at  the  inn  where  we 
stopped  was  there  anything  like  life.  A  lamp,  which  hung 
over  the  archway  leading  to  the  yard  and  stables,  lit  up  a 
group  of  people  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  omnibus.  I 
woke  up  Minima  from  her  deep  and  heavy  sleep. 

u  We  are  here  at  Noireau!  "  I  said.  "  We  have  reached 
our  home  at  last !  " 

The  door  was  opened  before  the  child  was  fairly  awake. 
A  small  cluster  of  by-standers  gathered  round  us  as  we 
alighted,  and  watched  our  luggage  put  down  from  the 
roof;  while  the  driver  ran  on  volubly,  and  with  many 
gesticulations,  addressed  to  the  little  crowd.  He,  the 
chamber-maid,  the  landlady,  and  all  the  rest  surrounded 
us  as  solemnly  as  if  they  were  assisting  at  a  funeral. 
There  was  not  a  symptom  of  amusement,  but  they  all 
stared  at  us  unflinchingly,  as  if  a  single  wink  of  their  eye- 
lids would  cause  them  to  lose  some  extraordinary  specta- 
cle. If  I  had  been  a  total  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  they  a 
group  of  enthusiastic  astronomers  bent  upon  observing 
every  phenomenon,  they  could  not  have  gazed  more 
steadily.  Minima  was  leaning  against  me,  half  asleep. 
A  narrow  vista  of  tall  houses  lay  to  the  right  and  left,  lost 


THE    DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  4I9 

in  impenetrable  darkness.  The  strip  of  sky  overhead 
was  black  with  midnight. 

"  Noireau?  "   I  asked  in  a  tone  of  interrogation. 

"  Oui,  oui,  madame,"  responded  a  chorus  of  voices. 

"  Carry  me  to  the  house  of  Monsieur  Emile  Perrier,  the 
avocat,"  I  said,  speaking  slowly  and  distinctly. 

The  words,  simple  as  they  were,  seemed  to  awaken 
considerable  excitement.  The  landlady  threw  up  her 
hands,  with  an  expression  of  astonishment,  and  the  driver 
recommenced  his  harangue.  Was  it  possible  that  I  could 
have  made  a  mistake  in  so  short  and  easy  a  sentence?  I 
said  it  over  again  to  myself,  and  felt  sure  I  was  right. 
With  renewed  confidence  I  repeated  it  aloud  with  a  slight 
variation. 

"  I  wish  to  go  to  the  house  of  Monsieur  Emile  Perrier, 
the  avocat,"  I  said. 

But  while  they  still  clustered  round  Minima  and  me, 
giving  no  sign  of  compliance  with  my  request,  two  per- 
sons thrust  themselves  through  the  circle.  The  one  was 
a  man,  in  a  thread-bare  brown  great-coat,  and  a  large 
woollen  comforter  round  about  his  neck ;  and  the  other  a 
woman  in  an  equally  shabby  dress,  who  spoke  to  me  in 
broken  English. 

"  Miss,  I  am  Madame  Perrier,  and  this  my  husband," 
she  said ;  "  come  on.  The  letter  was  here  only  an  hour 
ago;  but  all  is  ready.     Come  on:  come  on." 

She  put  her  hand  through  my  arm,  and  took  hold  of 
Minima's  hand,  as  if  claiming  both  of  us.  A  dead  silence 
had  fallen  upon  the  little  crowd,  as  if  they  were  trying  to 
catch  the  meaning  of  the  English  words.  But  as  she 
pushed  on,  with  us  both  in  her  hands,  a  titter  for  the  first 
time  ran  from  lip  to  lip.  I  glanced  back,  and  saw  Mon- 
sieur Perrier,  the  avocat,  hurriedly  putting  our  luggage  on 
a  wheelbarrow,  and  preparing  to  follow  us  with  it  along 
the  dark  streets. 


420  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

I  was  too  bewildered  yet  to  feel  any  astonishment. 
We  were  in  France,  in  a  remote  part  of  France,  and  I 
did  not  know  what  Frenchmen  would  or  would  not  do. 
Madame  Perrier,  exhausted  with  her  effort  at  speaking 
English,  had  ceased  speaking  to  me,  and  contented  her- 
self with  guiding  us  along  the  strange  streets.  We  stopped 
at  last  opposite  the  large,  handsome  house,  which  stood 
in  the  front  of  the  photograph  I  had  seen  in  London.  I 
could  just  recognize  it  in  the  darkness;  and  behind  lay 
the  garden  and  the  second  range  of  building.  Not  a 
glimmer  of  light  shone  in  any  of  the  windows. 

"  It  is  midnight  nearly,"  said  Madame  Perrier,  as  we 
came  to  a  standstill  and  waited  for  her  husband,  the 
avocat. 

Even  when  he  came  up  with  the  luggage  there  seemed 
some  difficulty  in  effecting  an  entrance.  He  passed 
through  the  garden-gate,  and  disappeared  round  the  corner 
of  the  house,  walking  softly,  as  if  careful  not  to  disturb 
the  household.  How  long  the  waiting  seemed!  For  we 
were  hungry,  sleepy,  and  cold — strangers  in  a  very  strange 
land.     I  heard  Minima  sigh  weariedly. 

At  last  he  reappeared  round  the  corner,  carrying  a 
candle,  which  flickered  in  the  wind.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  by  him  or  his  wife  as  the  latter  conducted  us 
toward  him.  We  were  to  enter  by  the  back  door,  that 
was  evident.  But  I  did  not  care  what  door  we  entered 
by,  so  that  we  might  soon  find  rest  and  food.  She  led  us 
into  a  dimly  lighted  room,  where  I  could  just  make  out 
what  appeared  to  be  a  carpenter's  bench,  with  a  heap  of 
wood-shavings  lying  under  it.  But  I  was  too  weary  to 
be  certain  about  anything. 

"  It  is  a  leetle  cabinet  of  work  of  my  husband,"  said 
Madame  Perrier ;  "  our  chamber  is  above,  and  the  cham- 
ber for  you  and  leetle  mees  is  there  also.     But  the  school 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


421 


is  not  there.  Will  you  go  to  bed?  Will  you  sleep?  Come 
on,  mees." 

"But  we  are  very  hungry,"  I  remonstrated;  "we  have 
had  nothing  to  eat  since  noon.  We  could  not  sleep  with- 
out food." 

"  Bah!  that  is  true,"  she  said.  "  Well,  come  on.  The 
food  is  at  the  school.     Come  on." 

That  must  be  the  house  at  the  back.  We  went  down 
the  broad  gravel  walk,  with  the  pretty  garden  at  the  side 
of  us,  where  a  fountain  was  tinkling  and  splashing  busily 
in  the  quiet  night.  But  we  passed  the  front  of  the  house 
behind  it  without  stopping  at  the  door.  Madame  led  us 
through  a  cart-shed  into  a  low,  long,  vaulted  passage,  with 
doors  opening  on  each  side;  a  black,  villainous-looking 
place,  with  the  feeble,  flickering  light  of  the  candle  throw- 
ing on  to  the  damp  walls  a  sinister  gleam.  Minima  pressed 
very  close  to  me,  and  I  felt  a  strange  quiver  of  apprehen- 
sion ;  but  the  thought  that  there  was  no  escape  from  it, 
and  no  help  at  hand,  nerved  me  to  follow  quietly  to  the 
end. 


422  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


AT    SCHOOL    IN    FRANCE. 


THE  end  brought  us  out  into  a  mean,  poor  street,  nar- 
row even  where  the  best  streets  were  narrow.  A 
small  house,  the  exterior  of  which  I  discovered  afterward 
to  be  neglected  and  almost  dilapidated,  stood  before  us; 
and  madame  unlocked  the  door  with  a  key  from  her 
pocket.  We  were  conducted  into  a  little  kitchen,  where 
a  fire  had  been  burning  lately,  though  it  was  now  out,  and 
only  a  little  warmth  lingered  about  the  stove.  Minima 
was  set  upon  a  chair  opposite  to  it,  with  her  feet  in  the 
oven,  and  I  was  invited  to  do  the  same.  I  assented  me- 
chanically, and  looked  furtively  about  me,  while  madame 
was  busy  in  cutting  a  huge  hunch  or  two  of  black  bread, 
and  spreading  upon  them  a  thin  scraping  of  rancid  butter. 
There  was  an  oil-lamp  here,  burning  with  a  clear  bright 
blaze.  Madame's  face  was  illuminated  by  it.  It  was  a 
coarse,  sullen  face,  with  an  expression  of  low  cunning 
about  it.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  refinement  or  culture 
about  her,  not  even  the  proverbial  taste  of  a  French- 
woman in  dress.  The  kitchen  was  a  picture  of  squalid 
dirt  and  neglect ;  the  walls  and  ceiling  black  with  smoke, 
and  the  floor  so  crusted  over  with  unswept  refuse  and 
litter  that  I  thought  it  was  not  quarried.  The  few  cook- 
ing utensils  were  scattered  about  in  disorder.  The  stove 
before  which  we  sat  was  rusty.  Could  I  be  dreaming  of 
this  filthy  dwelling  and  this  slovenly  woman?  No;  it  was 
all  too  real  for  me  to  doubt  its  existence  for  an  instant. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


423 


She  was  pouring  out  some  cold  tea  into  two  little  cups, 
when  Monsieur  Perrier  made  his  appearance,  his  face  be- 
grimed and  his  shaggy  hair  uncombed.  I  had  been  used 
to  the  sight  of  rough  men  in  Adelaide,  on  our  sheep-farm, 
but  I  had  never  seen  one  more  boorish.  He  stood  in 
the  doorway,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  gazing  at  us  unflinch- 
ingly with  the  hard  stare  of  a  Norman  peasant,  while  he 
spoke  in  rapid,  uncouth  tones  to  his  wife.  I  turned  away 
my  head,  and  shut  my  eyes  to  this  unwelcome  sight. 

"  Eat,  mees,"  said  the  woman  bringing  us  our  food. 
"  There  is  tea.  We  give  our  pupils  and  instructresses  tea 
for  supper  at  six  o'clock ;  after  that  there  is  no  more  to 
eat.'1 

I  took  a  mouthful  of  the  food,  but  I  could  hardly  swal- 
low it,  exhausted  as  I  was  from  hunger.  The  bread  was 
sour  and  the  butter  rancid;  the  tea  tasted  of  garlic. 
Minima  ate  hers  ravenously,  without  uttering  a  word. 
The  child  had  not  spoken  since  we  entered  these  new 
scenes ;  her  care-worn  face  was  puckered,  and  her  sharp 
eyes  were  glancing  about  her  more  openly  than  mine. 
As  soon  as  she  had  finished  her  hunch  of  black  bread,  I 
signified  to  Madame  Perrier  that  we  were  ready  to  go  to 
our  bedroom. 

We  had  the  same  vaulted  passage  and  cart-shed  to  tra- 
verse on  our  way  back  to  the  other  house.  There  we 
were  ushered  into  a  room  containing  only  two  beds  and 
our  two  boxes.  I  helped  Minima  to  undress,  and  tucked- 
her  up  in  bed,  trying  not  to  see  the  thin  little  face  and 
sharp  eyes  which  wanted  to  meet  mine,  and  look  into 
them.  She  put  her  arm  round  my  neck,  and  drew  down 
my  head  to  whisper  cautiously  into  my  ear. 

"  They're  cheats,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  dreadful  cheats. 
This  isn't  a  splendid  place  at  all.  Oh !  whatever  shall  I 
do?     Shall  I  have  to  stay  here  four  years?  " 


424  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"Hush,  Minima!  "  I  answered.  "  Perhaps  it  is  better 
than  we  think  now.  We  are  tired.  To-morrow  we  shall 
see  the  place  better,  and  it  may  be  splendid  after  all. 
Kiss  me,  and  go  to  sleep.1' 

But  it  was  too  much  for  me,  far  too  much.  The  long, 
long  journey;  the  hunger;  the  total  destruction  of  all  my 
hopes ;  the  dreary  prospect  that  stretched  before  me.  I 
laid  my  aching  head  on  my  pillow,  and  cried  myself  to 
sleep  like  a  child. 

I  was  awakened,  while  it  was  yet  quite  dark,  by  the 
sound  of  a  carpenters  tool  in  the  room  below  me.  Almost 
immediately  a  loud  knock  came  at  my  door,  and  the  harsh 
voice  of  madame  called  to  us. 

"  Get  up,  mees,  get  up,  and  come  on,"  she  said ;  "  you 
make  your  toilette  at  the  school.     Come  on,  quick!  " 

Minima  was  more  dexterous  than  I  in  dressing  herself 
in  the  dark;  but  we  were  not  long  in  getting  ready.  The 
air  was  raw  and  foggy  when  we  turned  out  of  doors,  and 
it  was  so  dark  still  that  we  could  scarcely  discern  the  out- 
line of  the  walls  and  houses.  But  madame  was  waiting 
to  conduct  us  once  more  to  the  other  house,  and  as  she 
did  so  she  volunteered  an  explanation  of  their  somewhat 
singular  arrangement  of  dwelling  in  two  houses.  The 
school,  she  informed  me,  was  registered  in  the  name  of 
her  head  governess,  not  in  her  own ;  and  as  the  laws  of 
France  prohibited  any  man  dwelling  under  the  same  roof 
with  a  school  of  girls,  except  the  husband  of  the  proprie- 
tor, they  were  compelled  to  rent  two  dwellings. 

"  How  many  pupils  have  you,  madame?  "  I  inquired. 

"We  have  six,  mees,"  she  replied.  "They  are  here; 
see  them." 

We  had  reached  the  house,  and  she  opened  the  door  of 
a  long,  low  room.  There  was  an  open  hearth,  with  a  few 
logs  of  green  wood  upon  it,  but  they  were  not  kindled. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  425 

A  table  ran  almost  the  whole  length  of  the  room,  with 
forms  on  each  side.  A  high  chair  or  two  stood  about. 
All  was  comfortless,  dreary,  and  squalid. 

But  the  girls  who  were  sitting  on  the  hard  benches  by 
the  table  were  still  more  squalid  and  dreary-looking. 
Their  faces  were  pinched,  and  just  now  blue  with  cold, 
and  their  hands  were  swollen  and  red  with  chilblains. 
They  had  a  cowed  and  frightened  expression,  and  peeped 
askance  at  us  as  we  went  in  behind  madame.  Minima 
pressed  closely  to  me,  and  clasped  my  hand  tightly  in  her 
little  fingers.  We  were  both  entering  upon  the  routine 
of  a  new  life,  and  the  first  introduction  to  it  was  disheart- 
ening. 

"  Three  are  English,"  said  madame,  "  and  three  are 
French.  The  English  are  frileuses;  they  are  always 
sheever,  sheever,  sheever.  Behold,  how  they  have  fingers 
red  and  big!     Bah!  it  is  disgusting." 

She  rapped  one  of  the  swollen  hands  which  lay  upon 
the  table,  and  the  girl  dropped  it  out  of  sight  upon  her 
lap,  with  a  frightened  glance  at  the  woman.  Minima's 
fingers  tightened  upon  mine.  The  head  governess,  a 
Frenchwoman  of  about  thirty,  with  a  number  of  little 
black  papillotes  circling  about  her  head,  was  now  intro- 
duced to  me ;  and  an  animated  conversation  followed  be- 
tween her  and  madame. 

''You  comprehend  the  French?"  asked  the  latter, 
turning  with  a  suspicious  look  to  me. 

"  No,"  I  answered ;  "  I  know  very  little  of  it  yet." 

"  Good!  "  she  replied.     "  We  will  eat  breakfast." 

"But  I  have  not  made  my  toilette,"  I  objected;  "there 
was  neither  washing-stand  nor  dressing-table  in  my  room." 

"Bah!  "  she  said  scornfully;  "there  are  no  gentlemens 
here.  No  person  will  see  you.  You  make  your  toilette 
before  the  promenade;  not  at  this  moment." 


426  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

It  was  evident  that  uncomplaining  submission  was  ex- 
pected, and  no  remonstrance  would  be  of  avail.  Break- 
fast was  being  brought  in  by  one  of  the  pupils.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  teacupful  of  coffee  at  the  bottom  of  a  big  basin, 
placed  before  each  of  us,  with  a  large  tablespoon  to  feed 
ourselves  by;  and  a  heaped  plateful  of  hunches  of  bread, 
similar  to  those  I  had  turned  from  last  night.  But  I  could 
fast  no  longer.  I  sat  down  with  the  rest  at  the  long  table, 
and  ate  my  food  with  a  sinking  and  sorrowful  heart. 

Minima  drank  her  scanty  allowance  of  coffee  thirstily, 
and  then  asked,  in  a  timid  voice,  if  she  could  have  a  little 
more.  Madame's  eyes  glared  upon  her,  and  her  voice 
snapped  out  an  answer;  while  the  English  girls  looked 
frightened,  and  drew  in  their  bony  shoulders,  as  if  such 
temerity  made  them  shudder.  As  soon  as  madame  was 
gone,  the  child  flung  her  arms  around  me,  and  hid  her 
face  in  my  bosom. 

"Oh!  "  she  cried,  "don't  you  leave  me;  don't  forsake 
me!  I  have  to  stay  here  four  years,  and  it  will  kill  me. 
I  shall  die  if  you  go  away  and  leave  me." 

I  soothed  her  as  best  I  could,  without  promising  to 
remain  in  this  trap.  Would  it  not  be  possible  in  some 
way  to  release  her  as  well  as  myself?  I  sat  thinking 
through  the  long,  cold  morning,  with  the  monotonous 
hum  of  lessons  in  my  ears.  There  was  nothing  for  me 
to  do,  and  I  found  that  I  could  not  return  to  the  house 
where  I  had  slept,  and  where  my  luggage  was,  until  night 
came  again.  I  sat  all  the  morning  in  the  chilly  room, 
with  Minima  on  the  floor  at  my  feet,  clinging  to  me  for 
protection  and  warmth,  such  as  I  could  give. 

But  what  could  I  do  either  for  her  or  myself?  My 
store  of  money  was  almost  all  gone,  for  our  joint  expenses 
had  cost  more  than  I  had  anticipated,  and  I  could  very 
well  see  that  I  must  not  expect  Madame  Perrier  to  re- 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


427 


fund  Minima's  fare.  There  was  perhaps  enough  left  to 
carry  me  back  to  England,  and  just  land  me  on  its  shores. 
But  what  then?  Where  was  I  to  go  then?  Penniless, 
friendless;  without  character,  without  a  name — but  an 
assumed  one — what  was  to  become  of  me?  I  began  to 
wonder  vaguely  whether  I  should  be  forced  to  make  my- 
self known  to  my  husband ;  whether  fate  would  not  drive 
me  back  to  him.  No;  that  should  never  be.  I  would 
face  and  endure  any  hardship  rather  than  return  to  my 
former  life.  A  hundred  times  better  this  squalid,  wretched, 
foreign  school,  than  the  degradation  of  heart  and  soul,  I 
had  suffered  with  him. 

I  could  do  no  more  for  Minima  than  for  myself,  for  I 
dared  not  even  write  to  Mrs.  Wilkinson,  who  was  either 
an  accomplice  to,  or  a  dupe  of  these  Perriers.  My  letter 
might  fall  into  the  hands  of  Richard  Foster,  or  the  woman 
living  with  him,  and  so  they  would  track  me  out,  and  I 
should  have  no  means  of  escape.  I  dared  not  run  that 
risk.  The  only  thing  I  could  do  for  her  was  to  stay  with 
her  and  as  far  as  possible  shield  her  from  the  privations 
and  distress  that  threatened  us  both.  I  was  safe  here ; 
no  one  was  likely  to  come  across  me,  in  this  remote  place, 
who  could  by  any  chance  know  me.  I  had  at  least  a  roof 
over  my  head ;  I  had  food  to  eat.  Elsewhere  I  was  not 
sure  of  either.  There  seemed  to  be  no  other  choice  given 
me  than  to  remain  in  the  trap. 

"  We  must  make  the  best  of  it,  Minima,"  I  whispered 
to  the  child,  through  the  hum  of  lessons.  Her  shrewd 
little  face  brightened  with  a  smile  that  smoothed  all  the 
wrinkles  out  of  it. 

"That's  what  father  said!  "  she  cried;  "he  said, 'Cour- 
age, Minima.  God  will  take  care  of  my  little  daughter.' 
God  has  sent  you  to  take  care  of  me.  Suppose  Td  come 
all  the  way  alone,  and  found  it  such  a  horrid  place!  " 


428  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


A  FRENCH  AVOCAT. 


DECEMBER  came  in  with  intense  severity.  Icicles  a 
yard  long  hung  to  the  eaves,  and  the  snow  lay  un- 
melted  for  days  together  on  the  roofs.  More  often  than 
not  we  were  without  wood  for  our  fire,  and  when  we  had 
it,  it  was  green  and  unseasoned,  and  only  smouldered 
away  with  a  smoke  that  stung  and  irritated  our  eyes.  Our 
insufficient  and  unwholesome  food  supplied  us  with  no 
inward  warmth.  Coal  in  that  remote  district  cost  too 
much  for  any  but  the  wealthiest  people.  Now  and  then 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  blazing  fire  in  the  houses  I  had 
to  pass,  to  get  to  our  chamber  over  Monsieur  Perrier's 
workshop ;  and  in  an  evening  the  dainty,  savory  smell  of 
dinner,  cooking  in  the  kitchen  adjoining  it,  sometimes 
filled  the  frosty  air.  Both  sight  and  scent  were  tantaliz- 
ing, and  my  dreams  at  night  were  generally  of  pleasant 
food  and  warm  firesides. 

At  times  the  pangs  of  hunger  grew  too  strong  for  us 
both,  and  forced  me  to  spend  a  little  of  the  money  I  was 
nursing  so  carefully.  As  soon  as  I  could  make  myself 
understood,  I  went  out  occasionally  after  dark,  to  buy 
bread  and  milk. 

Noireau  was  a  curious  town,  the  streets  everywhere 
steep  and  narrow,  and  the  houses  pell-mell,  rich  and  poor, 
large  and  small,  huddled  together  without  order.  Almost 
opposite  the  handsome  dwelling,  the  photograph  of  which 
had  misled  me,  stood  a  little  house  where  I  could  buy 
rich  creamy  milk.     It  was  sold  by  a  Mademoiselle  Rosalie, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  429 

an  old  maid,  whom  I  generally  found  solitarily  reading  a 
Journal  pour  Tous  with  her  feet  upon  a  chauffrette,  and 
no  light  save  that  of  her  little  oil  lamp.  She  had  never 
sat  by  a  fire  in  her  life,  she  told  me,  burning  her  face  and 
spoiling  her  teint.  Her  dwelling  consisted  of  a  single 
room,  with  a  shed  opening  out  of  it,  where  she  kept  her 
milk-pans.  She  was  the  only  person  I  spoke  to  out  of 
Madame  Perrier's  own  household. 

"Is  Monsieur  Perrier  an  avocat?"  I  asked  her  one 
day,  as  soon  as  I  could  understand  what  she  might  say  in 
reply.  There  was  very  little  doubt  in  my  mind  as  to 
what  her  answer  would  be. 

"An  avocat,  mademoiselle!1'  she  repeated,  shrugging 
her  shoulders;  "who  has  told  you  that?  Are  the  avocats 
in  England  like  Emile?  He  is  my  relation,  and  you  see 
me!  He  is  a  bailiff;  do  you  understand?  If  I  go  in 
debt,  he  comes  and  takes  possession  of  my  goods,  you  see. 
It  is  very  simple.  One  need  not  be  very  learned  to  do 
that.     Emile  Perrier  an  avocat!     Bah!" 

"  What  is  an  avocat?  "   I  inquired. 

"An  avocat  is  even  higher  than  a  notaire,"  she  an- 
swered; "he  gives  counsel ;  he  pleads  before  the  judges. 
It  is  a  high  role.  One  must  be  very  learned,  very  elo- 
quent, to  be  an  avocat." 

"  I  suppose  he  must  be  a  gentleman,"  I  remarked. 

"A  gentleman,  mademoiselle?"  she  said;  "I  do  not 
understand  you.  There  is  equality  in  France.  We  are 
all  Messieurs  and  Mesdames.  There  is  Monsieur  the 
bailiff,  and  Monsieur  the  duke ;  and  there  is  Madame  the 
washerwoman,  and  Madame  the  duchess.  We  are  all 
gentlemen,  all  ladies.     It  is  not  the  same  in  your  country." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered. 

"  Did  my  little  Emile  tell  you  he  was  an  avocat,  made- 
moiselle?1' she  asked. 


430  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  No,"  I  said.  I  was  on  my  guard,  even  if  I  had 
known  French  well  enough  to  explain  the  deception 
practised  upon  me.  She  looked  as  if  she  did  not  believe 
me,  but  smiled  and  nodded  with  imperturbable  politeness, 
as  I  carried  off  my  jug  of  milk. 

So  Monsieur  Perrier  was  nothing  higher  than  a  bailiff, 
and  with  very  little  to  do  even  in  that  line  of  the  law! 
He  took  off  his  tasselled  cap  to  me  as  I  passed  his  work- 
shop and  went  up-stairs  with  the  milk  to  Minima,  who 
was  already  gone  to  bed  for  the  sake  of  warmth.  The 
discovery  did  not  affect  me  with  surprise.  If  he  had  been 
an  avocat,  my  astonishment  at  French  barristers  would 
have  been  extreme. 

Yet  there  was  something  galling  in  the  idea  of  being 
under  the  roof  of  a  man  and  woman  of  that  class,  in 
some  sort  in  their  power  and  under  their  control.  The 
low  vulgar  cunning  of  their  nature  appeared  more  clearly 
to  me.  There  was  no  chance  of  success  in  any  contest 
with  them,  or  they  were  too  boorish  to  be  reached  by  any 
weapon  I  could  use.  All  I  could  do  was  to  keep  as  far 
aloof  from  them  as  possible. 

This  was  not  difficult  to  do,  for  neither  of  them  inter- 
fered with  the  affairs  of  the  school,  and  we  saw  them  only 
at  meal  times,  when  they  watched  every  mouthful  we  ate 
with  keen  eyes. 

I  found  that  I  had  no  duties  to  perform  as  a  teacher, 
for  none  of  the  three  French  pupils  desired  to  learn 
English.  English  girls,  who  had  been  decoyed  into  the 
same  snare  by  the  same  false  photograph  and  prospectus 
which  had  entrapped  me,  were  all  of  families  too  poor  to 
be  able  to  forfeit  the  money  which  had  been  paid  in  ad- 
vance for  their  French  education.  Two  of  them,  how- 
ever, completed  their  term  at  Christmas,  and  returned 
home  weak  and  ill:    the  third  was  to  leave  in  the  spring. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


431 


I  did  not  hear  that  any  more  pupils  were  expected,  and 
why  Madame  Perrier  should  have  engaged  any  English 
teacher  became  a  problem  to  me.  The  premium  I  had 
paid  was  too  small  to  cover  my  expenses  for  a  year, 
though  we  were  living  at  so  scanty  a  cost.  It  was  not 
long  before  I  understood  my  engagement  better. 

I  studied  the  language  diligently.  I  felt  myself  among 
foreigners  and  foes,  and  I  was  helpless  till  I  could  com- 
prehend what  they  were  saying  in  my  presence.  Having 
no  other  occupation  I  made  rapid  progress,  though 
Mademoiselle  Morel,  the  head  governess,  gave  me  very 
little  assistance. 

She  was  a  dull,  heavy,  yet  crafty-looking  woman,  who 
had  taken  a  first-class  diploma  as  a  teacher;  yet,  as  far 
as  I  could  judge,  knew  very  much  less  than  most  English 
governesses  who  are  uncertificated.  So  far  from  there 
being  any  professors  attending  the  school,  I  could  not 
discover  that  there  were  any  in  the  town.  It  was  a  cotton 
manufacturing  down,  with  a  population  of  six  thousand, 
most  of  them  hand-loom  weavers.  There  were  three  or 
four  small  factories,  built  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  where 
the  hands  were  at  work  from  six  in  the  morning  till  ten 
at  night,  Sundays  included.  There  was  not  much  in- 
tellectual life  here ;  a  professor  would  have  little  chance 
of  making  a  living. 

At  first  Minima  and  I  took  long  walks  together  into 
the  country  surrounding  Noireau,  a  beautiful  country, 
even  in  November.  Once  out  of  the  vapor  lying  in  the 
valley,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  town  was  built,  the 
atmosphere  showed  itself  as  exquisitely  clear,  with  no 
smoke  in  it,  except  the  fine  blue  smoke  of  wood  fires. 
We  could  distinguish  the  shapes  of  trees  standing  out 
against  the  horizon,  miles  and  miles  away;  while  between 
us  and  it  lay  sl^res  of  brown   woodland  and   drecn   cai- 


432  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

tures,  with  long  rows  of  slim  poplars,  the  yellow  leaves 
clinging  to  them  still,  and  winding  round  them,  like  gar- 
lands on  a  May-pole.  But  this  pleasure  was  a  costly  one, 
for  it  awoke  pangs  of  hunger,  which  I  was  compelled  to 
appease  by  drawing  upon  my  rapidly  emptying  purse. 
We  learned  that  it  was  necessary  to  stay  in-doors,  and 
cultivate  a  small  appetite. 

"Am  I  getting  very  thin?"  asked  Minima  one  day,  as 
she  held  up  her  transparent  hand  against  the  light ;  "  how 
thin  do  you  think  I  could  get  without  dying,  aunt  Nelly?  " 

"Oh!  a  great  deal  thinner,  my  darling,''  I  said,  kissing 
the  little  fingers.  My  heart  was  bound  up  in  the  child. 
I  had  been  so  lonely  without  her,  that  now  her  constant 
companionship,  her  half-womanly,  half-babyish  prattle 
seemed  necessary  to  me.  There  was  no  longer  any  ques- 
tion in  my  mind  as  to  whether  I  could  leave  her.  I  only 
wondered  what  I  should  do  when  my  year  was  run  out 
and  only  one  of  those  four  of  hers,  for  which  these 
wretches  had  received  the  payment. 

"  Some  people  can  get  very  thin  indeed,"  she  went  on 
with  her  shrewd,  quaint  smile;  "I've  heard  the  boys  at 
school  talk  about  it.  One  of  them  had  seen  a  living 
skeleton,  that  was  all  skin  and  bone,  and  no  flesh.  I 
shouldn't  like  to  be  a  living  skeleton,  and  be  made  a  show 
of.  Do  you  think  I  ever  shall  be,  if  I  stay  here  four 
years?     Perhaps  they'd  take  me  about  as  a  show." 

"  Why,  you  are  talking  nonsense,  Minima,"  I  answered. 

"Am  I  ?  "  she  said  wistfully,  as  if  the  idea  really  trou- 
bled her;  "I  dream  of  it  often  and  often.  I  can  feel  all 
my  bones  now,  and  count  them,  when  I'm  in  bed.  Some 
of  them  are  getting  very  sharp.  The  boys  used  to  say 
they'd  get  as  sharp  as  knives  sometimes,  and  cut  through 
the  skin.     But  father  said  it  was  only  boys'  talk." 

"Your  father  was  right,"  I  answered;  "you  must  think 
of  what  he  said,  not  the  boys'  talk." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


433 


"But,"  she  continued,  "the  boys  said  sometimes  people 
got  so  hungry  they  bite  pieces  out  of  their  arms.  I  don't 
think  I  could  ever  be  so  hungry  as  that;  do  you?  " 

"Minima,"  I  said,  starting  up,  "let  us  run  to  Made- 
moiselle Rosalie's  for  some  bread  and  milk." 

"  You're  afraid  of  my  beginning  to  eat  myself!  "  she  cried 
with  a  little  laugh.  But  she  was  the  first  to  reach  Made- 
moiselle Rosalie's  door ;  and  I  watched  her  devouring  her 
bread  and  milk  with  the  eagerness  of  a  ravenous  appetite. 

Very  fast  melted  away  my  money.  I  could  not  see  the 
child  pining  with  hunger,  though  every  sou  I  spent  made 
our  return  to  England  more  difficult.  Madame  Perrier 
put  no  hindrance  in  my  way,  for  the  more  food  we  pur- 
chased for  ourselves,  the  less  we  ate  at  her  table.  The 
bitter  cold  and  the  coarse  food  told  upon  Minima's  deli- 
cate little  frame.  Yet  what  could  I  do?  I  dared  not 
write  to  Mrs.  Wilkinson,  and  I  very  much  doubted  if  there 
would  be  any  benefit  to  be  hoped  for  if  I  ran  the  risk. 
Minima  did  not  know  the  address  of  any  one  of  the  per- 
sons who  had  subscribed  for  her  education  and  board ;  to 
her  they  were  only  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the  boys 
of  whom  she  talked  so  much.  She  was  as  friendless  as  I 
was  in  the  world. 

So  far  away  were  Dr.  Martin  Dobree  and  Tardif,  that 
I  dared  not  count  them  as  friends  who  could  have  any 
power  to  help  me.  Better  for  Dr.  Martin  Dobree  if  he 
could  altogether  forget  me,  and  return  to  his  cousin  Julia. 
Perhaps  he  had  done  so  already. 

How  long  was  this  loneliness,  this  friendlessness  to  be 
my  lot?  I  was  so  young  yet,  that  my  life  seemed  endless 
as  it  stretched  before  me.  Poor,  desolate,  hunted,  I 
shrank  from  life  as  an  evil  thing,  and  longed  impatiently 
to  be  rid  of  it.  Yet  how  could  I  escape  even  from  the 
present  phase? 
28 


434  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   X. 

A    MISFORTUNE    WITHOUT    PARALLEL. 

MY  escape  was  nearer  than  I  expected,  and  was  forced 
upon  me  in  a  manner  I  could  never  have  foreseen. 

Toward  the  middle  of  February,  Mademoiselle  Morel 
appeared  often  in  tears.  Madame  Perrier's  coarse  face 
was  always  overcast,  and  monsieur  seemed  gloomy,  too 
gloomy  to  retain  even  French  politeness  of  manner  toward 
any  of  us.  The  household  was  under  a  cloud,  but  I  could 
not  discover  why.  What  little  discipline  and  work  there 
had  been  in  the  school  was  quite  at  an  end.  Every  one 
was  left  to  do  as  she  chose. 

Early  one  morning,  long  before  the  daybreak,  I  was 
startled  out  of  my  sleep  by  a  hurried  knock  at  my  door. 
I  cried  out,  "  Who  is  there?  "  and  a  voice  indistinct  with 
sobbing  replied,  "  C'est  moi." 

The  "moi"  proved  to  be  Mademoiselle  Morel.  I 
opened  the  door  for  her,  and  she  appeared  in  her  bonnet 
and  walking-dress,  carrying  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  which  lit 
up  her  weary  and  tear-stained  face.  She  took  a  seat  at 
the  foot  of  my  bed,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  handker- 
chief. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  "here  is  a  grand  misfortune, 
a  misfortune  without  parallel.  Monsieur  and  madame 
are  gone." 

"Gone!  "   I  repeated;  "where  are  they  gone?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  mademoiselle,"  she  answered ;  "  I 
know  nothing  at  all.     They  are  gone  away.     The  poor 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  435 

good  people  were  in  debt,  and  their  creditors  are  as  hard 
as  stone.  They  wished  to  take  every  sou,  and  they  talked 
of  throwing  monsieur  into  prison,  you  understand.  That 
is  intolerable.  They  are  gone,  and  I  have  no  means  to 
carry  on  the  establishment.     The  school  is  finished." 

"  But  I  am  to  stay  here  twelve  months,"  I  cried,  in  dis- 
may, "and  Minima  was  to  stay  four  years.  The  money 
has  been  paid  to  them  for  it.    What  is  to  become  of  us?  " 

"I  cannot  say,  mademoiselle;  I  am  desolated  myself," 
she  replied,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears;  "all  is  finished 
here.  If  you  have  not  money  enough  to  take  you  bick 
to  England,  you  must  write  to  your  friends.  I  am  going 
to  return  to  Bordeaux.  I  detest  Normandy;  it  h  so  cold 
and  triste." 

"But  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  other  pupils?"  I  in- 
quired, still  lost  in  amazement,  and  too  bewildered  to 
realize  my  own  position. 

"  The  English  pupil  goes  with  me  to  Paris,"  she  an- 
swered ;  "  she  has  her  friends  there.  The  French  demoi- 
selles are  not  far  from  their  own  homes,  and  they  return 
to-day  by  the  omnibus  to  Granville.  It  is  a  misfortune 
without  parallel,  mademoiselle — a  misfortune  quite  with- 
out parallel." 

By  the  way  she  repeated  this  phrase,  it  was  evidently  a 
great  consolation  to  her — as  phrases  seem  to  be  to  all 
classes  of  the  French  people.  But  both  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  and  the  expression  of  her  face,  impressed  upon  me 
the  conviction  that  it  was  not  her  only  con  olation.  In 
answer  to  my  urgent  questions,  she  informed  me  that, 
without  doubt,  the  goods  left  in  the  two  houses  would  be 
seized,  as  soon  as  the  flight  of  madame  and  monsieur  be- 
came known.  To  crown  all,  she  was  going  to  start  im- 
mediately by  the  omnibus  to  Falaise,  and  on  by  rail  to 
Paris,  not  waiting  for  the  storm  tJ  burst.     She  kissed  me 


436  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

on  both  cheeks,  bade  me  adieu,  and  was  gone,  leaving 
me  in  utter  darkness,  before  I  fairly  comprehended  the 
rapid  French  in  which  she  conveyed  her  intention.  I 
groped  to  the  window,  and  saw  the  glimmerin  r  of  her 
lamp,  as  she  turned  into  the  cart-shed,  on  her  way  to  the 
other  house.  Before  I  could  dress  and  follow  her,  she 
would  be  gone. 

I  had  seen  my  last  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Perrier, 
and  of  Mademoiselle  Morel. 

I  had  time  to  recover  from  my  consternation,  and  to 
see  my  position  clearly,  before  the  dawn  came.  Leagues 
of  land,  and  leagues  of  sea,  lay  between  me  and  England. 
Ten  shillings  was  all  that  was  left  of  my  money.  Besides 
this  I  had  Minima  dependent  upon  me,  for  it  was  im- 
possible to  abandon  her  to  the  charity  of  foreigners.  I 
had  not  the  means  of  sending  her  back  to  Mrs.  Wilkinson, 
and  I  rejected  the  mere  thought  of  (Toing  so,  partly  be- 
cause I  dared  not  run  the  risk,  and  partly  because  I  could 
not  harden  myself  against  the  appeals  the  child  would 
make  against  such  a  destiny.  But  then  what  was  to  be- 
come of  us? 

I  dressed  myself  as  soon  as  the  frst  faint  light  came, 
and  hurried  to  the  other  house.  The  key  was  in  the  lock, 
as  mademoiselle  had  left  it.  A  fire  was  burning  in  the 
school-room,  and  the  fragments  of  a  meal  were  scattered 
about  the  table.  The  pupils  up-stairs  were  preparing  for 
their  own  departure,  and  were  chattering  too  volubly  to 
one  another  for  me  to  catch  the  meaning  of  their  words. 
They  seemed  to  know  very  well  how  to  manage  their  own 
affairs,  and  they  informed  me  their  places  were  taken  in 
the  omnibus,  and  a  porter  was  hired  to  fetch  their  luggage. 

All  I  had  to  do  was  to  see  to  myself  and  Minima. 

I  carried  our  breakfast  back  wi  h  me,  when  I  returned 
to    Minima.      Her    wan    and    womanly   face    was    turned 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


437 


towar.l  the  window,  and  the  light  made  it  look  more 
pinched  and  worn  than  usual.  She  sat  up  in  be  1  to  eat 
her  scanty  breakfast — the  last  meal  we  should  have  iii  this 
shelter  of  ours — and  I  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her  thin 
shoulders. 

"I  wish  I'd  been  born  a  boy,"  she  sard  plaintively; 
"  they  can  get  their  own  living  sooner  than  girls,  and  better. 
How  soon  do  you  think  I  could  get  my  own  living?  I 
could  be  a  little  nusemaid  now,  you  know;  and  I'd  eat 
very  little." 

"What  makes  you  talk  about  getting  your  living  ?"  I 
asked. 

"How  pale  you  look!"  she  answered,  nodding  her 
little  head;  "why,  I  heard  something  of  what  mademoi- 
selle said.  They've  all  run  away,  and  left  us  to  do  what 
we  can.  We  shall  both  have  to  get  our  own  living.  I've 
been  thinking  how  nice  it  would  be  if  you  could  get  a 
place  as  housemaid  and  me  nurse,  in  the  same  house. 
Wouldn't  that  be  first-rate?  You're  very  poor,  aren't 
you,  aunt  Nelly?  " 

"  Very  poor!  "  I  repeated,  hiding  my  face  on  her  pillow, 
while  hot  tears  forced  themselves  through  my  eyelids. 

"Oh!  this  will  never  do,"  said  the  childish  voice;  "we 
mustn't  cry,  you  know.  The  boys  always  said  it  was  like 
a  baby  to  cy ;  and  father  used  to  say,  '  Courage,  Minima ! ' 
Perhaps  when  all  our  money  is  gone,  we  shall  find  a  great 
big  purse  full  of  gold;  or  else  a  beautiful  French  prince 
will  see  you  and  fall  in  love  with  you,  and  take  us  both 
to  his  palace,  and  make  you  his  princess ;  and  we  shall  all 
grow  up  till  we  die." 

I  laughed  at  the  oddity  of  this  childish  climax  in  spite 
of  the  heaviness  of  my  heart  and  the  springing  of  my 
tears.  Minima's  fresh  young  fancies  were  too  droll  to 
resist,  especially  in    combination    with    her    shrewd,    old- 


438  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

womanish  knowledge  of  many  things  of  which  I  was  ig- 
norant. 

"  I  should  know  exactly  what  to  do  if  we  were  in  Lon- 
don," she  resumed;  "we  could  take  our  things  to  the 
pawnbroker's,  and  get  lots  of  money  for  them.  That  is 
what  poor  people  do.  Mrs.  Foster  had  pawned  all  her 
rings  and  brooches.  It  is  quite  easy  to  do,  you  know; 
but  perhaps  there  are  no  pawnshops  in  France." 

This  incidental  mention  of  Mrs.  Fester  had  sent  my 
thoughts  and  fea  s  fluttering  toward  a  deep,  unutterable 
dread,  which  was  lurking  under  all  my  other  cares. 
Should  I  be  driven  by  the  mere  stress  of  utter  poverty  to 
return  to  my  husband?  There  must  be  something  wrong 
in  a  law  which  bound  me  captive,  body  and  soul,  to  a  man 
whose  very  name  had  become  a  terror  to  me,  and  to  es- 
cape whom  I  was  willing  to  face  any  difncul'ies,  any  dis- 
tresses. But  all  my  knowledge  of  the  law  came  from  his 
lips,  and  he  would  gladly  deceive  me.  It  might  be  that  I 
was  suffering  all  these  troubles  quite  needlessly.  Across 
the  darkness  of  my  prospects  flashed  a  thought  that 
seemed  like  an  angel  of  light.  Why  should  I  not  try  to 
make  my  way  to  Mrs.  Dobree,  Martin's  mother,  to  whom 
I  could  tell  my  whole  history,  and  on  whose  friendship 
and  protection  I  could  rely  implicitly?  She  would  learn 
for  me  how  far  the  law  would  protect  me.  By  this  time 
Kate  Daltrey  would  have  quitted  the  Channel  Islands, 
satisfied  that  I  had  eluded  her  pursuit.  The  route  to  the 
Channel  Islands  was  neither  long  nor  difficult,  for  at 
Granville  a  vessel  sailed  directly  for  Jersey,  and  we  were 
not  more  than  thirty  miles  from  Granville.  It  was  a  dis- 
tance that  we  could  almc  st  walk.  If  Mrs.  Dobree  could 
not  help  me,  Tardif  would  take  Minima  into  his  house 
for  a  time,  and  the  child  could  not  have  a  happier  home. 
I  could  count  upon  my  good  Tardif  doing  that.     These 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  439 

plans  were  taking  shape  in  my  brain,  when  I  heard  a 
voice  calling  softly  under  the  window.  I  opened  the 
casement,  and  leaning  out,  saw  the  welcome  face  of 
Rosalie,  the  milk  woman. 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  come  in?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes.  yes;  come  in,"  I  said  eagerly. 

She  entered,  and  saluted  us  both  with  much  ceremony. 
Her  clumsy  wooden  sabots  clattered  over  the  bare  boards, 
and  the  wings  of  her  high  Norman  cap  flapped  against  her 
sallow  cheeks.  No  figure  could  have  impressed  upon  me 
more  forcibly  the  unwelcome  fact  that  I  was  in  great 
straits  in  a  foreign  land.  I  regarded  her  with  a  vague 
kind  of  fear. 

"  So  my  little  Emile  and  his  spouse  are  gone,  mademoi- 
selle?" she  said,  in  a  mysterious  whisper.  "I  have  been 
saying  to  myself,  'What  will  my  little  English  lady  do?' 
That  is  why  I  am  here.     Behold  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  do,"  I  answered. 

"If  mademoiselle  is  not  difficult,"  she  said,  "she  and 
the  little  one  could  rest  with  me  for  a  day  or  two.  My 
bed  is  clean  and  soft — bah !  ten  times  softer  than  these 
palliasses.  I  would  ask  only  a  franc  a  night  for  it.  That 
is  much  less  than  at  the  hotels,  where  they  charge  for 
light  and  attendance.  Mademoiselle  could  write  to  her 
friends,  if  she  has  not  enough  money  to  carry  her  and  the 
little  one  back  to  their  own  country." 

"  I  have  no  friends,"  I  said  despondingly. 

"No  friends!  no  relations!  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Not  one,"  I  replied. 

"  But  that  is  terrible !  "  she  said.  "  Has  Mademoiselle 
plenty  of  money?  " 

"  Only  twelve  francs,"    I  answered. 

Rosalie's  face  grew  long  and  grave.  This  was  an  abyss 
of  misfortune  she  had  not  dreamed  of.     She  looked  at  us 


44o 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


both  critically,  and  did  not  open  her  lips  again  for  a  min- 
ute or  two.  x 

"  Is  the  little  one  your  relation?  "  she  inquired  after  this 
pause. 

"  No,"  I  replied ;  "  I  did  not  know  her  till  I  brought 
her  here.  She  does  not  know  of  any  friends  or  relations 
belonging  to  her." 

"There  is  the  convent  for  her,"  she  said;  "the  good 
sisters  would  take  a  little  girl  like  her,  and  make  a  true 
Christian  of  her.    She  might  become  a  saint  some  day " 

"  No,  no,"  I  interrupted  hastily;  "  I  could  not  leave  her 
in  a  convent." 

Mademoiselle  Rosalie  was  very  much  offended;  her 
sallow  face  flushed  a  dull  red,  and  the  wings  of  her  cap 
flapped  as  if  she  were  about  to  take  flight  and  leave  me 
in  my  difficulties.  She  had  kindliness  of  feeling,  but  it 
was  not  proof  against  my  poverty  and  my  covert  slight  of 
her  religion.  I  caught  her  hand  in  mine  to  prevent  her 
going. 

"Let  us  come  to  your  house  for  to-day,"  I  entreated; 
"to-morrow  we  will  go.  I  have  money  enough  to  pay 
you." 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  get  a  shelter  for  Minima  and 
myself  for  another  night.  She  explained  to  me  the  French 
system  of  borrowing  money  upon  articles  left  in  pledge, 
and  offered  to  accompany  me  to  the  mont  de  pttti  with 
those  things  that  we  could  spare.  But  upon  packing  up 
our  few  posssesions,  I  remembered  that  only  a  few  days 
before  Madame  Perrier  had  borrowed  from  me  my  seal- 
skin mantle,  the  only  valuable  thing  I  had  remaining.  I 
had  lent  it  reluctantly,  and  in  spite  of  myself;  and  it  had 
never  been  returned.  Minima's  wardrobe  was  still  poorer 
than  my  own.  All  the  money  we  could  raise  was  less  than 
two  napoleons ;    and  with  this  we  had  to  make  our  way  to 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


441 


Granville,  and  from  thence  to  Guernsey.  We  could  not 
travel  luxuriously. 

The  next  morning  we  left  Noireau  on  foot.  It  was  a 
soft  spring  morning,  with  an  exhilarating,  jubilant  light- 
ness in  the  air,  such  as  only  comes  in  the  very  early  spring, 
or  at  sunrise  on  a  dewy  summer  day.  A  few  gray  clouds 
lay  low  along  the  horizon,  but  overhead  the  sky  was  a 
deep,  rich  blue,  with  fine  filmy  streaks  of  white  vapor 
floating  slowly  across  it.  The  branches  of  the  trees  were 
still  bare,  showing  the  blue  through  their  delicate  net- 
work; but  the  ends  of  the  twigs  were  thickening,  and  the 
leaf-buds  swelling  under  the  rind.  The  shoots  of  the 
hazelbushes  wore  a  purple  bloom,  with  yellow  catkins 
already  hanging  in  tassels  about  them.  The  white  buds 
of  the  chestnut-trees  shone  with  silvery  lustre.  In  the 
orchards,  though  the  tangled  boughs  of  the  apple-trees 
were  still  thickly  covered  with  gray  lichens,  small  specks 
of  green  among  the  gray  gave  a  promise  of  early  blossom. 
Thrushes  were  singing  from  every  thorn-bush;  and  the 
larks,  lost  in  the  blue  heights  above  us,  flung  down  their 
triumphant  carols,  careless  whether  our  ears  caught  them 
or  no.  A  long,  straight  road  stretched  before  us,  and 
seemed  to  end  upon  the  sky-line  in  the  far  distance. 
Below  us,  when  we  looked  back,  lay  the  valley  and  the 
town ;  and  all  around  us  a  vast  sweep  of  country,  rising 
up  to  the  low  floor  of  clouds  from  which  the  bright  dome 
of  the  sky  was  springing. 

We  strolled  on  as  if  we  were  walking  on  air,  and  could 
feel  no  fatigue;  Minima,  with  a  flush  upon  her  pale 
cheeks,  and  chattering  incessantly  about  the  boys,  whose 
memories  were  her  constant  companions.  I  too  had  my 
companions ;  faces  and  voices  were  about  me,  which  no 
eye  or  ear  but  mine  could  perceive. 

During  the  night,  while  my  brain  had  been  between 


442 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


waking  and  sleeping,  I  had  been  busy  with  the  new  idea 
that  had  taken  possession  of  it.  The  more  I  pondered 
upon  the  subject,  the  more  impossible  it  appeared  that 
the  laws  of  any  Christian  country  should  doom  me,  and 
deliver  me  up  against  my  will,  to  a  bondage  more  degrad- 
ing and  more  cruel  than  slavery  itself.  If  every  man,  I 
had  said  to  myself,  were  proved  to  be  good  and  chival- 
rous, of  high  and  steadfast  honor,  it  might  be  possible  to 
place  another  soul,  more  frail  and  less  wise,  into  his  charge 
unchallenged.  But  the  law  is  made  for  evil  men,  not  for 
good.  I  began  to  believe  it  incredible  that  it  should  sub- 
ject me  to  the  tyranny  of  a  husband  who  made  my  home 
a  hell,  and  gave  me  no  companionship  but  that  of  the 
vicious.  Should  the  law  make  me  forfeit  all  else,  it  would 
at  least  recognize  my  right  to  myself.  Once  free  from 
the  necessity  of  hiding,  I  did  not  fear  to  face  any  diffi- 
culty. Surely  he  had  been  deceiving  me,  and  playing 
upon  my  ignorance,  when  he  told  me  I  belonged  to  him 
as  a  chattel! 

Every  step  which  carried  us  nearer  to  Granville  brought 
new  hope  to  me.  The  face  of  Martin's  mother  came 
often  to  my  mind,  looking  at  me,  as  she  had  done  in  Sark, 
with  a  mournful  yet  tender  smile — a  smile  behind  which 
lay  many  tears.  If  I  could  but  lay  my  head  upon  her  lap, 
and  tell  her  all,  all  which  I  had  never  breathed  into  any 
ear,  I  should  feel  secure  and  happy.  "  Courage ! "  I 
said  to  myself;  "  every  hour  brings  you  nearer  to  her." 

Now  and  then,  whenever  we  came  to  a  pleasant  place, 
where  a  fallen  tree,  or  the  step  under  a  cross  offered  us 
a  resting-place  by  the  road  side,  we  sat  down,  scarcely 
from  weariness,  but  rather  for  enjoyment.  I  had  full 
directions  as  to  our  route,  and  I  carried  a  letter  from 
Rosalie  to  a  cousin  of  hers,  who  lived  in  a  convent  about 
twelve  miles  from  Noireau,  where,  she  assured  me,  they 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


443 


would  take  us  in  gladly  for  a  night,  and  perhaps  send  us 
on  part  of  our  way  in  their  conveyance,  in  the  morning. 
Twelve  miles  only  had  to  be  accomplished  this  first  day, 
and  we  could  saunter  as  we  chose,  making  our  dinner  of 
the  little  loaves  which  we  had  bought  hot  from  the  oven 
as  we  quitted  the  town,  and  drinking  of  the  clear  little 
rills,  which  were  gurgling  merrily  under  the  brown  hedge- 
rows. If  we  reached  the  convent  before  six  o'clock  we 
should  find  the  doors  open,  and  should  gain  admission. 

But  in  the  afternoon  the  sky  changed.  The  low  floor 
of  clouds  rose  gradually,  and  began  to  spread  themselves, 
growing  grayer  and  thicker  as  they  crept  higher  into  the 
sky.  The  blue  became  paler  and  colder.  The  wind 
changed  a  point  or  two  from  the  south,  and  a  breath  from 
the  east  blew,  with  a  chilly  touch,  over  the  wide  open 
plain  we  were  now  crossing. 

Insensibly  our  high  spirits  sank.  Minima  ceased  to 
prattle,  and  I  began  to  shiver  a  little,  more  from  an  inward 
dread  of  the  utterly  unknown  future,  than  from  any  chill 
of  the  easterly  wind.  The  road  was  very  desolate.  Not 
a  creature  had  we  seen  for  an  hour  or  two,  from  whom  I 
could  inquire  if  we  were  on  the  high  road  to  Granville. 
About  noon  we  had  passed  a  road-side  cross,  standing 
where  three  ways  met,  and  below  it  a  board  had  pointed 
toward  Granville.  I  had  followed  its  direction  in  confi- 
dence, but  now  I  began  to  feel  somewhat  anxious.  This 
road,  along  which  the  grass  was  growing,  was  so  strangely 
solitary  and  dreary. 

It  brought  us  after  a  while  to  the  edge  of  a  common, 
stretching  before  us,  drear  and  brown,  as  far  as  my  eye 
could  reach.  A  wild,  weird-looking  flat,  with  no  sign  of 
cultivation ;  and  the  road  running  across  it  lying  in  deep 
ruts,  where  moss  and  grass  were  springing.  As  far  as  I 
could  guess,  it  was  drawing  near  to  five  o'clock ;    and  if 


444 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


we  had  wandered  out  of  our  way,  the  right  road  took  an 
opposite  direction  some  miles  behind  us.  There  was  no 
gleam  of  sunshine  now,  no  vision  of  blue  overhead.  All 
there  was  gray,  gloomy,  and  threatening.  The  horizon 
was  rapidly  becoming  invisible;  a  thin,  cold,  clinging 
vapor  shut  it  from  us.  Every  few  minutes  a  fold  of  this 
mist  overtook  us,  and  wrapped  itself  about  us,  until  the 
moaning  wind  drifted  it  away.  Minima  was  quite  silent 
now,  and  her  weary  feet  dragged  along  the  rough  road. 
The  hand  which  rested  upon  my  wrist  felt  hot,  as  it 
clasped  it  closely.  The  child  was  worn-out  and  was  suf- 
fering more  than  I  did,  though  in  uncomplaining  patience. 

"Are  you  very  tired,  my  Minima?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  will  be  so  nice  to  go  to  bed,  when  we  reach  the 
convent,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  a  smile.  "  I  can't 
imagine  why  the  prince  has  not  come  yet." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  coming  all  the  time,"  I  answered,  "  and 
he'll  find  us  when  we  want  him  worst." 

We  plodded  on  after  that,  looking  for  the  convent,  or 
for  any  dwelling  where  we  could  stay  till  morning.  But 
none  came  in  sight,  nor  any  person  from  whom  we  could 
learn  where  we  were  wandering.  I  was  growing  fright- 
ened, dismayed  What  would  become  of  us  both,  if  we 
could  find  no  shelter  from  the  cold  of  a  February  night? 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  445 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    CURE    OF   VILLE-EN-BOIS. 

THERE  were  unshed  tears  in  my  eyes — for  I  would 
not  let  Minima  know  my  fears — when  I  saw  dimly, 
through  the  mist,  a  high  cross  standing  in  the  midst  of  a 
small  grove  of  yews  and  cypresses,  planted  formally  about 
it.  There  were  three  tiers  of  steps  at  its  foot,  the  lowest 
partly  screened  from  the  gathering  rain  by  the  trees.  The 
shaft  of  the  cross,  with  a  serpent  twining  about  its  base, 
rose  high  above  the  cypresses;  and  the  image  of  the 
Christ  hanging  upon  its  cross-beams  fronted  the  east, 
which  was  now  heavy  with  clouds.  The  half- closed  eyes 
seemed  to  be  gazing  over  the  vast  wintry  plain,  lying  in 
the  brown  desolateness  of  a  February  evening.  The  face 
was  full  of  an  unutterable  and  complete  agony,  and  there 
was  the  helpless  languor  of  dying  in  the  limbs.  The  rain 
was  beating  against  it,  and  the  wind  sobbing  in  the  trees 
surrounding  it.  It  seemed  so  sad,  so  forsaken,  that  it 
drew  us  to  it.  Without  speaking,  the  child  and  I  crept 
to  the  shelter  at  its  foot,  and  sat  down  to  rest  there,  as  if 
we  were  companions  to  it  in  its  loneliness. 

There  was  no  sound  to  listen  to  save  the  sighing  of  the 
east  w,nd  through  the  fine  needle-like  leaflets  of  the  yew- 
trees  ;  and  the  mist  was  rapidly  shutting  out  every  sight 
but  the  awful,  pathetic  form  above  us.  Evening  had 
closed  in ;  night  was  coming  gradually  yet  swiftly.  Every 
minute  was  drawing  the  darkness  more  densely  above  us. 
If  we  did  not  bestir  ourselves  soon,  and  hasten  along,  it 


446 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


would  overtake  us,  and  find  us  without  resource.  Yet  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  no  heart  to  abandon  that  gray  figure,  with 
the  raindrops  beating  heavily  against  it.  I  forgo'  myself, 
forgot  Minima,  forgot  all  the  world,  while  looking  up  to 
the  face,  growing  more  dim  to  me  through  my  own 
tears. 

"Hush!  hush!1'  cried  Minima,  though  I  was  neither 
moving  nor  speaking,  and  the  stillness  was  profound; 
"hark!  I  hear  something  coming  along  the  road,  only 
very  far  off." 

I  listened  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  there  reached  my 
ears  a  faint  tinkling,  which  drew  nearer  and  nearer  every 
moment.  At  last  it  was  plainly  the  sound  of  bells  on  a 
horse's  collar;  and  presently  I  could  distinguish  the  beat 
of  a  horse's  hoofs  coming  slowly  along  the  road.  In  a 
few  minutes  some  person  would  be  passing  by,  who  would 
be  able  to  help  us;  and  no  one  could  be  so  inhuman  as 
to  leave  us  in  our  distress. 

It  was  too  dark  now  to  see  far  along  the  road,  but  as 
we  waited  and  watched  there  came  into  sight  a  rude  sort 
of  covered  carriage,  like  a  market-cart,  drawn  by  a  horse 
with  a  blue  sheep-skin  hanging  round  his  neck.  The 
pace  at  which  he  was  going  was  not  above  a  jog-trot,  and 
he  came  almost  to  a  standstill  opposite  the  cross,  as  if  it 
was  customary  to  pause  there. 

This  was  the  instant  to  appeal  for  aid.  I  darted  for- 
ward into  the  front  of  the  char-a-banc,  and  stretched  out 
my  hands  to  the  driver. 

"Help  us,"  I  cried;  "we  have  lost  our  way,  and  the 
night  is  come.  Help  us,  for  the  love  of  Christ !  "  I  could 
see  now  that  the  driver  was  a  burly,  red-faced,  clean- 
shaven Norman  peasant,  wearing  a  white  cotton  cap,  with 
a  tassel  over  his  forehead,  who  stared  at  me,  and  at  Minima 
dragging  herself  weariedly  to  my  side,  as  if  we  had  both 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  447 

dropped  from  the  clouds.  He  crossed  himself  hurriedly, 
and  glanced  at  the  grove  of  dark,  solemn  trees  from  which 
we  had  come.  But  by  his  side  sat  a  priest,  in  his  cassock 
and  broad-brimmed  hat  fastened  up  at  the  sides,  who 
alighted  almost  before  I  had  finished  speaking,  and  stood 
before  us  bare-headed,  and  bowing  profoundly. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  in  a  bland  tone,  "  to  what  town 
are  you  going?  " 

"We  are  going  to  Granville,"  I  answered;  "but  I  am 
afraid  I  have  lost  the  way.  We  are  very  tired,  this  little 
child  and  I.  We  can  walk  no  more,  monsieur.  Take 
care  of  us,  I  pray  you." 

I  spoke  brokenly,  for  in  an  extremity  like  this  it  was 
difficult  to  put  my  thoughts  into  French.  The  priest  ap- 
peared perplexed,  and  he  went  back  to  the  char-a-banc, 
and  held  a  short,  earnest  conversation  with  the  driver,  in 
a  subdued  voice. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  returning  to  me,  "  I  am  Francis 
Laurentie,  the  cure  of  Ville-en-bois.  It  is  quite  a  small 
village  about  a  league  from  here,  and  we  are  on  the  road 
to  it;  but  the  roite  to  Granville  is  two  leagues  behind 
us,  and  it  is  still  farther  to  the  first  village.  There  is  not 
time  to  return  with  you  this  evening.  Will  you  then  go 
with  us  to  Ville-en-bois  and  to-morrow  we  will  send  you 
on  to  Granville?  " 

He  spoke  very  slowly  and  distinctly  with  a  clear  cordial 
voice  which  filled  me  with  confidence.  I  could  hardly 
distinguish  his  features,  but  his  hair  was  silvery  white,  and 
shone  in  the  gloom,  as  he  still  stood  bare-headed  before 
me,  though  the  rain  was  falling  fast. 

"Take  care  of  us,  monsieur,"  I  replied,  putting  my 
hand  in  his;  "we  will  go  with  you." 

"Make  haste  then,  my  children,"  he  said  cheerfully; 
"  the  rain  will  hurt  you.     Let  me  lift  the  mignonne  into 


448  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

the  char-a-banc.     Bah!     How  little  she  is.    Voila!     Now, 
madame,  permit  me." 

There  was  a  seat  in  the  back  of  the  char-a-banc,  which 
we  reached  by  climbing  over  the  front  bench,  assisted  by 
the  driver.  There  we  were  well  sheltered  from  the  driv- 
ing wind  and  rain,  with  our  feet  resting  upon  a  sack  of 
potatoes,  and  the  two  str.mge  figures  of  the  Norman 
peasant  in  his  blouse  and  white  cotton  cap,  and  the  cure 
in  his  hat  and  cassock,  filling  up  the  front  of  the  car 
before  us. 

It  was  so  unlike  anything  I  had  foreseen,  that  I  could 
scarcely  believe  that  it  was  real. 

"  They  are  not  Frenchwomen,  Monsieur  le  CureY'  ob- 
served the  driver,  after  a  short  pause.  We  were  travelling 
slow  y,  for  the  cure*  would  not  allow  the  peasant  to  whip 
on  the  shaggy  cart-horse.  We  were,  moreover,  going  up- 
hill, along  roads  as  rough  as  any  about  my  father's  sheep- 
walk,  with  large  round  stones  deeply  bedded  in  the  soil. 

"No,  no,  my  good  Jean,"  was  the  cure's  answer;  "by 
their  tongue  I  should  say  they  are  English.  English 
women  are  extremely  intrepid,  and  voyage  about  all  the 
world  quite  alone,  like  this.  It  is  only  a  marvel  to  me  that 
we  have  never  encountered  one  of  them  before  to-day." 

"But,  Monsieur  le  Cur£,  are  they  Christian?"  inquired 
Jean,  with  a  backward  glance  at  us.  Evidently  he  had 
not  altogether  recovered  from  the  fright  we  had  given 
him,  when  we  appeared  suddenly  from  out  of  the  gloomy 
shadows  of  the  cypresses. 

"  The  English  nation  is  Protestant,"  replied  the  cure, 
with  a  sigh. 

"But,  monsieur,"  exclaimed  Jean,  "if  they  are  Protest- 
ants they  cannot  be  Christians!  Is  it  not  true  that  all 
the  Protestants  go  to  hell  on  the  back  of  that  bad  king 
who  had  six  wives  all  at  one  time?  " 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  449 

"Not  all  at  one  time,  my  good  Jean,"  the  cure"  an- 
swered mildly ;  "  no,  no,  surely  they  do  not  all  go  to  per- 
dition. If  they  know  anything  of  the  love  of  Christ  they 
must  be  Christians,  however  feeble  and  ignorant.  He 
does  not  quench  the  smoking  flax,  Jean.  Did  you  not 
hear  madame  say,  'Help  me  for  the  love  of  Christ?' 
Good!  There  is  the  smoking  flax,  which  may  burn  mto 
a  flame  brighter  than  yours  or  mine  some  day,  my  poor 
friend.  We  must  make  her  and  the  mignonne  as  wel- 
come as  if  they  were  good  Catholics.  She  is  very  poor, 
cela  saute  aux  yeux " 

"  Monsieur,"  I  interrupted,  feeling  almost  guilty  in 
having  listened  so  far,  "  I  understand  French  very  well, 
though  I  speak  it  badiy." 

"  Pardon,  madame!  "  he  replied,  "  I  hope  you  will  not 
be  grieved  by  the  foolish  words  we  have  been  speaking 
one  to  the  other." 

After  that  all  was  still  again  for  some  time,  except  the 
tinkling  of  the  bells,  and  the  padpad  of  the  horse's  feet 
upon  the  steep  and  rugged  road.  Hills  rose  on  each  side 
of  us,  which  were  thickly  planted  with  trees.  Even  the 
figures  of  the  cure  and  driver  were  no  longer  well  defined 
in  the  denser  darkness.  Minima  had  laid  her  head  on  my 
shoulder,  and  seemed  to  be  asleep.  By-and-by  a  village 
clock  strik  ng  echoed  faintly  down  the  valley ;  and  the 
cure  turned  round  and  addressed  me  again. 

"There  is  my  village,  madame,"  he  said,  stretching 
forth  his  hand  to  point  it  out,  though  we  could  not  see  a 
yard  beyond  the  char-a-banc ;  "  it  is  very  small,  and  my 
parish  contains  but  four  hundred  and  twenty-two  souls, 
some  of  them  very  little  ones.  They  all  know  me,  and 
regard  me  as  father.  They  love  me,  though  I  have  some 
rebel  sons.  Is  it  not  so,  Jean?  Rebel  sons,  but  not 
many  rebel  daughters.  Here  we  are!  " 
29 


450  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

We  entered  a  narrow  and  roughly-paved  village  street. 
The  houses,  as  I  saw  afterward,  were  all  huddled  together, 
with  a  small  church  at  the  point  farthest  from  the  en- 
trance ;  and  the  road  ended  at  its  porch,  as  if  there  were 
no  other  place  in  the  world  beyond  it. 

As  we  clattered  along  the  dogs  barked,  and  the  cottage- 
doors  flew  open.  Children  toddled  to  the  thresholds,  and 
called  after  us  in  shrill  notes,  "  Good  evening,  and  a  good 
night,  Monsieur  le  Cure!"  Men's  voices,  deeper  and 
slower,  echoed  the  salutation.  The  cure  was  busy  greet- 
ing each  one  in  return :  "  Good  night,  my  little  rogue." 
"  Good  night,  my  lamb."  "  Good  night  to  all  of  you,  my 
friends,"  his  cordial  voice  making  each  word  sound  as  if 
it  came  from  his  very  heart.  I  felt  that  we  were  perfectly 
secure  in  his  keeping.  Never,  as  long  as  I  live,  shall  I 
smell  the  pungent,  pleasant  scent  of  wood  burning  without 
recalling  to  my  memory  that  darksome  entrance  into 
Ville-en-bois. 

We  drove  at  last  into  a  square  court-yard,  paved  with 
peebles.  Almost  before  the  horse  could  stop  I  saw  a 
stream  of  light  shining  from  an  open  door  across  the 
causeway,  and  the  voice  of  a  woman,  whom  I  could  not 
see,  spoke  eagerly  as  soon  as  the  horse's  hoofs  had  ceased 
to  scrape  upon  the  pebbles. 

"Hast  thou  brought  a  doctor  with  thee,  my  brother?  " 
she  asked. 

"I  have  brought  no  doctor  except  thy  brother,  my 
sister,"  answered  Monsieur  Laurentie,  "also  a  treasure 
which  I  found  at  the  foot  of  the  Calvary,  down  yonder." 

He  had  alighted  while  saying  this,  and  the  rest  of  the 
conversation  was  carried  on  in  whispers.  There  was 
some  one  ill  in  the  house,  and  our  arrival  was  ill-timed, 
that  was  quite  clear.  Whoever  the  woman  was,  who  had 
come  to  the  door,  she  did  not  advance  to  speak  to  me, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


451 


but  retreated  as  soon  as  the  conversation  was  over;  while 
the  cure  returned  to  the  side  of  the  char-a-banc,  and  asked 
me  to  remain  where  I  was,  with  Minima,  for  a  few  minutes. 
The  horse  was  taken  out  by  Jean,  and  led  away  to  the 
stable,  the  shafts  of  the  char-a-banc  being  supported  by 
two  props  put  under  them.  Then  the  place  grew  pro- 
foundly quiet.  I  leaned  forward  to  look  at  the  presbytery, 
which  I  supposed  this  house  to  be.  It  was  a  low,  large 
building  of  two  stories,  with  eaves  projecting  two  or  three 
feet. over  the  upper  one.  At  the  end  of  it  rose  the  belfry 
of  the  church — an  open  belfry,  with  one  bell  hanging  un- 
derneath a  little  square  roof  of  tiles.  The  church  itself 
was  quite  hidden  by  the  surrounding  walls  and  roofs.  All 
was  dark,  except  a  feeble  glimmering  in  four  upper  case- 
ments, which  seemed  to  belong  to  one  large  room.  The 
church-clock  chimed  a  quarter,  then  half-past,  and  must 
have  been  near  upon  the  three-quarters;  but  still  there 
was  no  sign  that  we  were  remembered.  Minima  was  still 
asleep.  I  was  growing  cold,  depressed,  and  anxious,  when 
the  house-door  opened  once  more,  and  the  cure  appeared 
carrying  a  lamp,  which  he  placed  on  the  low  stone  wall 
surrounding  the  court. 

"  Pardon,  madame,"  he  said,  approaching  us,  "  but  my 
sister  is  too  much  occupied  with  a  sick  person  to  do  her- 
self the  honor  of  attending  upon  you.  Permit  me  to  fill 
her  place,  and  excuse  her,  I  pray  you.  Give  me  the  poor 
mignonne;  I  will  lift  her  down  first,  and  then  assist  you 
to  descend." 

His  politeness  did  not  seem  studied :  it  had  too  kindly 
a  tone  to  be  artificial.  I  lifted  Minima  over  the  front 
seat,  and  sprang  down  myself,  glad  to  be  released  from 
my  stiff  position,  and  hardly  availing  myself  of  his  prof- 
fered help.  He  did  not  conduct  us  through  the  open 
door,  but  let  us  round  the  angle  of  the  presbytery  to  a 


452  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

small  out-house  opening  on  to  the  court,  and  with  no 
other  entrance.  It  was  a  building  lying  between  the 
porch  and  belfry  of  the  church  and  his  own  dwelling- 
place.  But  it  looked  comfortable  and  inviting.  A  fire 
had  been  hastily  kindled  on  an  open  hearth,  and  a  heap 
of  wood  lay  beside  it.  A  table  stood  close  by,  in  the  light 
and  warmth,  on  which  were  steaming  two  basins  of  soup, 
and  an  omelette  fresh  from  the  frying-pan,  with  fruit  and 
wine  for  a  second  course.  Two  beds  were  in  this  room, 
one  with  hangings  over  the  head,  and  a  large  tall  cross  at 
the  foot-board ;  the  other  a  low,  narrow  pallet,  along  the 
foot  of  it.  A  crucifix  hung  upon  the  wall,  and  the  wood- 
work of  the  high  window  also  formed  a  cross.  It  seemed 
a  strange  goal  to  reach  after  our  day's  wanderings. 

Monsieur  Laurentie  put  the  lamp  down  on  the  table, 
and  drew  the  logs  of  wood  together  on  the  hearth.  He 
was  an  old  man,  as  I  then  thought,  over  sixty.  He  looked 
round  upon  us  with  a  benevolent  smile. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  our  hospitality  is  rude  and  sim- 
ple, but  you  are  very  welcome  guests.  My  sister  is  deso- 
lated that  she  must  leave  you  to  my  cares.  But  if  there 
be  anything  you  have  need  of,  tell  me,  I  pray  you." 

"There  is  nothing,  monsieur,"  I  answered;  "you  are 
too  good  to  us,  too  good." 

"  No,  no,  madame,"  he  said,  "  be  content.  To-morrow 
I  will  send  you  to  Granville  under  the  charge  of  my  good 
Jean.  Sleep  well,  my  children,  and  fear  nothing.  The 
good  God  will  protect  you." 

He  closed  the  door  after  him  as  he  spoke,  but  opened 
it  again  to  call  my  attention  to  a  thick  wooden  bar,  with 
which  I  might  fasten  it  inside  if  I  chose ;  and  to  tell  me 
not  to  alarm  myself  when  I  heard  the  bell  overhead  toll 
for  matins,  at  half-past  five  in  the  morning.  I  listened  to 
his  receding  footsteps,  and  then  turned  eagerly  to  the  food, 
which  I  began  to  want  greatly. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  453 

But  Minima  had  thrown  herself  upon  the  low  pallet-bed, 
and  I  could  not  persuade  her  to  swallow  more  than  a  few 
spoonfuls  of  soup.  I  took  off  her  damp  clothes,  and  laid 
her  down  comfortably  to  rest.  Her  large  eyes  were  dull 
and  heavy,  and  she  said  her  head  was  aching;  but  she 
looked  up  at  me  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  told  you  how  nice  it  would  be  to  be  in  bed,"  she 
whispered. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  also  was  sleeping  soundly  the 
deep,  dreamless  sleep  which  comes  to  any  one  as  strong 
as  I  was,  after  unusual  physical  exertion.  Once  or  twice 
a  vague  impression  forced  itself  upon  me  that  Minima 
was  talking  a  great  deal  in  her  dreams.  It  was  the  clang 
of  the  bell  for  matins  which  fully  roused  me  at  last,  but  it 
was  a  minute  or  two  before  I  could  make  out  where  I 
was.  Through  the  uncurtained  window,  high  in  the  op- 
posite wall,  I  could  see  a  dim,  pallid  moon  sinking  slowly 
into  the  west.  The  thick  beams  of  the  cross  were  strongly 
delineated  against  its  pale  light.  For  a  moment  I  fancied 
that  Minima  and  I  had  passed  the  night  under  the  shelter 
of  the  solitary  image,  which  we  had  left  alone  in  the  dark 
and  rainy  evening.  I  knew  better  immediately,  and  lay 
still,  listening  to  the  tramp  of  wooden  sabots  hurrying 
past  the  door  into  the  church-porch.  Then  Minima  began 
to  talk. 

"How  funny  that  is!  "  she  said,  "there  the  boys  run, 
and  I  can't  catch  o  e  of  them.  Father  Temple  Secundus 
is  pulling  the  faces  at  me,  and  all  the  boys  are  laughing. 
Well!  it  doesn't  matter,  does  it?  Only  we  are  so  poor, 
Aunt  Nelly  and  all.     We're  so  poor — so  poor — so  poor!  " 

Her  voice  fell  into  a  murmur  too  low  for  me  to  hear 
what  she  was  saying,  though  she  went  on  rapidly,  and 
laughing  and  sobbing  at  times.  I  called  to  her,  but  she 
did  not  answer. 


454  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

What  could  ail  the  child?  I  went  to  her,  and  took  her 
hands  in  mine — burning  little  hands.  I  said,  "Minima!  " 
and  she  turned  to  me  with  a  caressing  gesture,  raising  her 
hot  fingers  to  stroke  my  face. 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Nelly.  How  poor  we  are,  you  and  me!  I 
am  so  tired,  and  the  prince  never  comes!  " 

There  was  hardly  room  for  me  in  the  narrow  bed,  but 
I  managed  to  lie  down  beside  her,  and  took  her  into  my 
arms  to  soothe  her.  S  e  rested  there  quietly  enough; 
but  her  head  was  wandering,  and  all  her  whispered  chatter 
was  about  the  boys,  and  the  dominie,  her  father,  and  the 
happy  days  at  home  in  the  school  in  Epping  Forest.  As 
soon  as  it  was  light  I  dressed  myself  in  haste,  and  opened 
my  door  to  see  if  I  could  find  any  one  to  send  to  Mon- 
sieur Laurentie. 

The  first  person  I  saw  was  himself,  coming  in  my  direc- 
tion. I  had  not  fairly  looked  at  him  before,  for  I  had  seen 
him  only  by  twilight  and  firelight.  His  cassock  was  old 
and  threadbare,  and  his  hat  brown.  His  hair  fell  in  rather 
long  locks  below  his  hat,  and  was  beautifully  white.  His 
face  was  healthy  looking,  like  that  of  a  man  who  lived  much 
out  of  doors,  and  his  clear,  quick  eyes  shone  with  a  kindly 
light.  I  ran  impulsively  to  meet  him  with  outstretched 
hands,  which  he  took  into  his  own  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"Oh,  come,  monsieur,"  I  cried;  "make  haste!  She  is 
ill,  my  poor  Minima!  " 

The  smile  faded  away  from  his  face  in  an  instant,  and 
he  did  not  utter  a  word.  He  followed  me  quickly  to  the 
sir'e  of  the  little  bed,  laid  his  hand  softly  on  the  child's 
forehead,  and  felt  her  pulse.  He  lifted  up  her  head 
gently,  and  opening  her  mouth,  looked  at  her  tongue  and 
throat.  He  shook  his  head  as  he  turned  to  me  with  a 
grave  and  perplexed  expression,  and  he  spoke  with  a  low 
solemn  accent. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "it  is  the  fever." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


455 


CHAPTER   XII. 


A    FEVER    HOSPITAL. 


THE  fever!  What  fever?  Was  it  anything  more  than 
some  childish  malady  brought  on  by  exhaustion? 
I  stood  silent,  in  amazement  at  his  solemn  manner,  and 
looking  from  him  to  the  delirious  child.  He  was  the  first 
to  speak  again. 

"It  will  impossible  for  you  to  go  to-day,"  he  said; 
"  the  child  cannot  be  removed.  I  must  tell  Jean  to  put 
up  the  horse  and  char-a-banc  again.  I  shall  return  in 
an  instant  to  you,  madame." 

He  left  me,  and  I  sank  down  on  a  chair,  half  stupefied 
by  this  new  disaster.  It  would  be  necessary  to  stay  where 
we  were  until  Minima  recovered ;  yet  I  had  no  means  to 
pay  these  people  for  the  trouble  we  should  give  them,  and 
the  expense  we  should  be  to  them.  Monsieur  le  Cure 
had  all  the  appearance  of  a  poor  parish  priest,  with  a  very 
small  income.  I  had  not  time  to  decide  upon  any  course, 
before  he  returned  and  brought  with  him  his  sister. 

Mademoiselle  Therese  was  a  tall,  plain,  elderly  woman, 
but  with  the  same  pleasant  expression  of  open  friendliness 
as  that  of  her  brother.  She  went  through  precisely  the 
same  examination  of  Minima  as  he  had  done. 

"The  fever!"  she  ejaculated,  in  much  the  same  tone 
as  his.  They  looked  significantly  at  each  other,  and  then 
held  a  hurried  consultation  together  outside  the  door,  after 
which  the  cure  returned  alone. 

"  Madame,1'  he  said,  "  this  child  is  not  your  own,  as  I 


456  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

supposed  last  night.  My  sister  says  you  are  too  young  to 
be  her  mother.     Is  she  your  sister?" 

"  No,  monsieur,"  I  answered. 

"  I  called  you  madame  because  it  is  a  thing  extraor- 
dinary here  for  a  demoiselle  to  travel  alone,"  he  contin- 
ued, smiling ;  "  French  demoiselles  never  travel  alone 
before  they  are  married.  You  are  mademoiselle,  no 
doubt?" 

An  awkward  question,  for  he  paused  as  if  it  were  a 
question.  I  looked  into  his  kind,  keen  face,  and  honest 
eyes. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  I  said  frankly,  "  I  am  married." 

"Where  then  is  your  husband?  "  he  inquired. 

"  He  is  in  London,"  I  answered.  "  Monsieur,  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  explain  it;  I  cannot  speak  your  lan- 
guage well  enough.  I  think  in  English,  and  I  cannot  find 
the  right  French  words.  I  am  very  unhappy,  but  I  am 
not  wicked." 

"Good,"  he  said,  smiling  again,  "very  good,  my  child; 
I  believe  you.  You  will  learn  my  language  quickly;  then 
you  shall  tell  me  all,  if  you  remain  with  us.  But  you 
said  the  mignonne  is  not  your  sister." 

"No,  she  is  not  my  relative  at  all,"  I  replied;  "we 
were  both  in  a  school  at  Noireau,  the  school  of  Monsieur 
Emile  Perrier.     Perhaps  you  know  it,  monsieur?" 

"  Certainly,~madame,"  he  said. 

"  He  has  failed,  and  run  away,"  I  continued,  "  all  the 
pupils  are  dispersed.  Minima  and  I  were  returning 
through  Granville." 

"Bien!  I  understand,  madame,"  he  responded,  "but  it 
is  villanous,  this  affair!  Listen,  my  child.  I  have  much 
to  say  to  you.  Do  I  speak  gently  and  slowly  enough  for 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  I  understand  you  perfectly." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  457 

"We  have  had  the  fever  in  Ville-en-bois  for  some 
weeks,"  he  went  on;  "it  is  now  bad,  very  bad.  Yester- 
day I  went  to  Noireau  to  seek  a  doctor,  but  I  could  only 
hear  of  one,  who  is  in  Paris  at  present,  and  cannot  come 
immediately.  When  you  prayed  me  for  succor  last  night, 
I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  could  not  leave  you  by  the 
way-side,  with  the  night  coming  on,  and  I  could  not  take 
you  to  my  own  house.  At  present  we  have  made  my 
house  into  a  hospital  for  the  sick.  My  people  bring  their 
sick  to  me,  and  we  do  our  best,  and  put  our  trust  in  God. 
I  said  "to  myself  and  to  Jean,  'We  cannot  receive  these 
children  into  the  presbytery  lest  they  should  take  the 
fever.'  But  this  little  house  has  been  kept  free  from  all 
infection,  and  you  would  be  safe  here  for  one  night,  so  I 
hoped.  The  mignonne  must  have  caught  the  fever  some 
days  ago.  There  is  no  blame,  therefore,  resting  upon  me, 
you  understand.  Now  I  must  carry  her  into  my  little 
hospital.  But  you,  madame,  what  am  I  to  do  with  you? 
Do  you  wish  to  go  on  to  Granville,  and  leave  the  mignonne 
with  me?  We  will  take  care  of  her  as  a  little  angel  of 
God.     What  shall  I  do  with  you,  my  child?  " 

"  Monsieur,"  I  exclaimed,  speaking  so  eagerly  that  I 
could  scarcely  bring  my  sentences  into  any  kind  of  order, 
"  take  me  into  your  hospital  too.  Let  me  take  care  of 
Minima  and  your  other  sick  people.  I  am  very  strong, 
and  in  good  health.  I  am  never  ill ;  never,  never.  I  will 
do  all  you  say  to  me.     Let  me  stay,  dear  monsieur." 

"  But  your  husband,  your  friends,"  he  said 

"  I  have  no  friends,"  I  interrupted,  "  and  my  husband 
does  not  love  me.  If  I  have  the  fever  and  die — good! 
very  good!  I  am  not  wicked;  I  am  a  Christian,  I  hope. 
Only  let  me  stay  with  Minima,  and  do  all  I  can  in  the 
hospital." 

He  stood  looking  at  me  scrutinizingly,  trying  to  read,  I 


458  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

fancied,  if  there  were  any  sign  of  wickedness  in  my  face. 
I  felt  it  flush,  but  I  would  not  let  my  eyes  sink  before  his. 
I  think  he  saw  in  them,  in  my  steadfast,  tearful  eyes,  that 
I  might  be  unfortunate,  but  that  1  was  not  wicked.  A 
pleasant,  contented  gleam  came  across  his  features. 

"  Be  content,  my  child,"  he  said,  "  you  shall  stay  with 
us." 

I  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  contentment  take  possession  of 
me ;  for  here  was  work  for  me  to  do,  as  well  as  a  refuge. 
Neither  should  I  be  compelled  to  leave  Minima.  I 
wrapped  her  up  warmly  in  the  blankets,  and  Monsieur 
Laurentie  lifted  her  carefully  and  tenderly  from  the  low 
bed.  He  told  me  to  accompany  him,  and  we  crossed  the 
court,  and  entered  the  house  by  the  door  I  had  seen  the 
night  before.  A  staircase  of  red  quarries  led  up  to  the 
second  story,  and  the  first  door  we  came  to  was  a  long,  low 
room,  with  a  quarried  floor,  which  had  been  turned  into  a 
hastily  fitted-up  fever  ward  for  women  and  children. 
There  were  already  nine  beds  in  it,  of  different  sizes, 
brought  with  the  patients  who  now  occupied  them.  But 
one  of  these  was  empty. 

I  learned  afterward  that  the  girl  to  whom  the  bed  be- 
longed had  died  the  day  before,  during  the  cure's  absence, 
and  was  going  to  be  buried  that  morning  in  a  cemetery 
lying  in  a  field  on  the  side  of  the  valley.  Mademoiselle 
Therese  was  making  up  the  bed  with  homespun  linen, 
scented  with  rosemary  and  lavender,  and  the  cure*  laid 
Minima  down  upon  it  with  all  the  skill  of  a  woman.  In 
this  homelike  ward  I  took  up  my  work  as  nurse. 

It  was  work  that  seemed  to  come  naturally  to  me,  as 
if  I  had  a  special  gift  for  it.  I  remembered  how  some  of 
the  older  shepherds  on  the  station  at  home  used  to  praise 
my  mother's  skill  as  a  nurse.  I  felt  as  if  I  knew  by  in- 
stinct the  wants  of  my  little  patients,  when  they  could  not 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  459 

put  them  into  coherent  words  for  themselves.  They  were 
mostly  children,  or  quite  young  girls ;  for  the  elder  people 
who  were  stricken  by  the  fever  generally  clung  to  their 
own  homes,  and  the  cure  visited  them  there  with  the  reg- 
ularity of  a  physician.  I  liked  to  find  for  these  suffering 
children  some  more  comfortable  position  when  they  were 
weary;  or  to  bathe  their  burning  heads  with  some  cool 
lotion ;  or  to  give  the  parched  lips  the  tisane  Mademoiselle 
Therese  prepared.  Even  the  delirium  of  these  little  crea- 
tures was  but  a  babbling  about  playthings,  and  fetes,  and 
games.  Minima,  whose  fever  took  faster  hold  of  her  day 
after  day,  prattled  of  the  same  things  in  English,  only 
with  sad  alternations  of  moaning  over  our  poverty. 

It  was  probably  these  lamentations  of  Minima  which 
made  me  sometimes  look  forward  with  dread  to  the  time 
when  this  season  of  my  life  should  be  ended.  I  knew  it 
could  be  only  for  a  little  while,  an  interlude,  a  brief  pass- 
ing term,  which  must  run  quickly  to  its  conclusion,  and 
bring  me  face  to  face  again  with  the  terrible  poverty  which 
the  child  bemoaned  in  words  no  one  could  understand  but 
myself.  Already  my  own  appearance  was  changing,  as 
Mademoiselle  Therese  supplied  the  place  of  my  clothing, 
which  wore  out  with  my  constant  work,  replacing  it  with 
the  homely  costume  of  the  Norman  village.  I  could  not 
expect  to  remain  here  when  my  task  was  done.  The  pres- 
bytery was  too  poor  to  offer  me  a  shelter  when  I  could  be 
nothing  but  a  burden  in  it.  This  good  cure,  who  was 
growing  fonder  of  me  every  day,  and  whom  I  had  learned 
to  love  and  honor,  could  not  be  a  father  to  me  as  he  was 
to  his  own  people.  Sooner  or  later  there  would  come  an 
hour  when  we  must  say  adieu  to  one  another,  and  I  must 
go  out  once  again  to  confront  the  uncertain  future. 

But  for  the  present  these  fears  were  very  much  in  the 
background,  and  I  only  felt  that  these  were  lurking  there, 


460  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

ready  for  any  moment  of  depression.  I  was  kept  too 
busy  with  the  duties  of  the  hour  to  attend  to  them.  Some 
of  the  children  died,  and  I  grieved  over  them ;  some  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  be  removed  to  a  farm  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  where  the  air  was  fresher  than  in  the  valley. 
There  was  plenty  to  do  and  to  think  of  from  day  to  day. 

"  Madame,"  said  Monsieur  Laurentie,  one  morning,  the 
eighth  that  I  had  been  in  the  fever-smitten  village,  "  you 
did  not  take  a  promenade  yesterday." 

"  Not  yesterday,  monsieur." 

"Nor  the  day  before  yesterday?"  he  continued. 

"  No,  monsieur,"  I  answered ;  "  I  dare  not  leave  Minima. 
I  fear  she  is  going  to  die." 

My  voice  failed  me  as  I  spoke  to  him.  I  was  sitting 
down  for  a  few  minutes  on  a  low  seat,  between  Minima's 
bed  and  one  where  a  little  boy  of  six  years  of  age  lay. 
Both  were  delirious.  He  was  the  little  son  of  Jean,  our 
driver,  and  the  sacristan  of  the  church ;  and  his  father  had 
brought  him  into  the  ward  the  evening  of  the  day  after 
Minima  had  been  taken  ill.  Jean  had  besought  me  with 
tears  to  be  good  to  his  child.  The  two  had  engrossed 
nearly  all  my  time  and  thoughts,  and  I  was  losing  heart 
and  hope  every  hour. 

Monsieur  Laurentie  raised  me  gently  from  my  low 
chair,  and  seated  himself  upon  it,  with  a  smile  as  he 
looked  up  at  me. 

"  Voila,  madame,"  he  said,  "  I  promise  not  to  quit  the 
chamber  till  you  return.  My  sister  has  a  little  commis- 
sion for  you  to  do.  Confide  the  mignonne  to  me,  and 
make  your  promenade  in  peace.  It  is  necesasry,  ma- 
dame ;  you  must  obey  me." 

The  commission  for  mademoiselle  was  to  carry  some 
food  and  medicine  to  a  cottage  lower  down  the  valley; 
and  Jean's  eldest  son,   Pierre,  was  appointed  to  be  my 


THE  DOCTORS  DILEMMA.  461 

guide.  Both  the  cure  and  his  sister  gave  me  a  strict 
charge  as  to  what  we  were  to  do ;  neither  of  us  was  upon 
any  account  to  go  near  or  enter  the  dwelling ;  but  after 
the  basket  was  deposited  upon  a  flat  stone,  which  Pierre 
was  to  point  out  to  me,  he  was  to  ring  a  small  hand-bell 
which  he  carried  with  him  for  that  purpose.  Then  we 
were  to  turn  our  backs  and  begin  our  retreat,  before  any 
person  came  out  of  the  infected  house. 

I  set  out  with  Pierre,  a  solemn-looking  boy  of  about 
twelve  years  of  age,  who  cast  upon  me  sidelong  glances 
of  silent  scrutiny.  We  passed  down  the  village  street, 
with  its  closely-packed  houses  forming  a  very  nest  for 
fever,  until  we  reached  the  road  by  which  I  had  first  en- 
tered Ville-en-bois.  Now  that  I  could  see  it  by  daylight, 
the  valley  was  extremely  narrow,  and  the  hills  on  each 
side  so  high,  that  though  the  sun  had  risen  nearly  three 
hours  ago,  it  had  but  just  climbed  above  the  brow  of  the 
eastern  slope.  There  was  a  luxurious  and  dank  growth 
of  trees,  with  a  tangle  of  underwood  and  boggy  soil  be- 
neath them.  A  vapor  was  shining  in  rainbow  colors 
against  the  brightening  sky.  In  the  depth  of  the  valley, 
but  hidden  by  the  thicket,  ran  a  noisy  stream — too  noisy 
to  be  anything  else  than  shallow.  There  had  been  no 
frost  since  the  sharp  and  keen  wintry  weather  in  Decem- 
ber, and  the  heavy  rains  which  had  fallen  since  had 
flooded  the  stream,  and  made  the  lowlands  soft  and  oozy 
with  undrained  moisture.  My  guide  and  I  trudged  along 
in  silence  for  almost  a  kilometre. 

"Are  you  a  pagan,  madame?  "  inquired  Pierre,  at  last, 
with  eager  solemnity  of  face  and  voice.  His  blue  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  me  pityingly. 

"No,  Pierre,''  I  replied. 

"  But  you  are  a  heretic/'  he  pursued. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  said. 


462  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Pagans  and  heretics  are  the  same,"  he  rejoined  dog- 
matically; "you  are  a  heretic,  therefore  you  are  a  pagan, 
madame." 

"  I  am  not  a  pagan,"  I  persisted ;  "I  am  a  Christian 
like  you." 

"  Does  Monsieur  le  Cure  say  you  are  a  Christian?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  You  can  ask  him,  Pierre,"  I  replied. 

"  He  will  know,"  he  said,  in  a  confident  tone ;  "  he 
knows  everything.  There  is  no  cure  like  monsieur  be- 
tween Ville-en-bois  and  Paris.  All  the  world  must  ac- 
knowledge that.  He  is  our  priest,  our  doctor,  our  jnge 
de  fiaix,  our  schoolmaster.  Did  you  ever  know  a  cure 
like  him  before,  madame?  " 

"  I  never  knew  any  cure  before,"  I  replied. 

"Never  knew  any  cure?"  he  repeated  slowly;  "then, 
madame,  you  must  be  a  pagan.  Did  you  never  confess? 
Were  you  never  prepared  for  your  first  communion?  Oh ! 
it  is  certain,  madame,  you  are  a  true  pagan." 

We  had  not  any  more  time  to  discuss  my  religion,  for 
we  were  drawing  near  the  end  of  our  expedition.  Above 
the  tops  of  the  trees  appeared  a  tall  chimney,  and  a 
sudden  turn  in  the  by-road  we  had  taken  brought  us 
full  in  sight  of  a  small  cotton-mill  built  on  the  banks 
of  the  noisy  stream.  It  was  an  ugly,  formal  building,  as 
all  factories  are,  with  straight  rows  of  window-frames ;  but 
both  walls  and  roof  were  mouldering  into  ruin,  and  looked 
as  though  they  must  before  long  sink  into  the  brawling 
waters  that  were  sapping  the  foundations.  A  more 
mournfully  dilapidated  place  I  had  never  seen.  A  blight 
seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  it;  some  solemn  curse  might 
be  brooding  over  it,  and  slowly  working  out  its  total  de- 
struction. 

In   the  yard   adjoining    this   deserted   factory  stood   a 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  463 

miserable  cottage  with  a  thatched  roof,  and  eaves  project- 
ing some  feet  from  the  walls  and  reaching  nearly  to  the 
ground,  except  where  the  door  was.  The  small  casements 
of  the  upper  story,  if  there  were  any,  were  completely  hid- 
den. A  line  of  fleurs-de-lys  was  springing  up,  green  and 
glossy,  along  the  peak  of  the  brown  thatch,  this  and  the 
picturesque  eaves  forming  its  only  beauty.  The  thatch 
looked  old  and  rotten,  and  was  beginning  to  steam  in  the 
warm  sunshine.  The  unpaved  yard  about  it  was  a  slough 
of  mire  and  mud.  There  was  mould  and  mildew  upon  all 
the  wood-work.  The  place  bore  the  aspect  of  a  pest- 
house,  shunned  by  all  the  inmates  of  the  neighboring  vil- 
lage. Pierre  led  me  to  a  large  flat  stone,  which  had  once 
been  a  horse-block,  standing  at  a  safe  distance  from  this 
hovel,  and  I  laid  down  my  basket  upon  it.  Then  he  rang 
his  hand-bell  noisily,  and  the  next  instant  was  scampering 
back  along  the  road. 

But  I  could  not  run  away.  The  desolate  plague- 
stricken  place  had  a  dismal  fascination  for  me.  I  won- 
dered what  manner  of  persons  could  dwell  in  it;  and  as  I 
lingered,  I  saw  the  low  door  opened,  and  a  thin,  spectral 
figure  standing  in  the  gloom  within,  but  delaying  to  cross 
the  mouldering  door-sill  as  long  as  I  remained  in  sight. 
In  another  minute  Pierre  had  rushed  back  for  me,  and 
dragged  me  away  with  all  his  boyish  strength  and  energy. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  in  angry  remonstrance,  "you  are 
disobeying  Monsieur  le  Cure.  If  you  catch  the  fever  and 
die  while  you  are  a  pagan,  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to 
go  to  heaven.  It  would  be  a  hundred  times  better  for 
me  to  die,  who  have  taken  my  first  communion." 

"  But  who  lives  there  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  They  are  very  wicked  people,"  he  answered  emphat- 
ically; "no  one  goes  near  them,  except  Monsieur  le 
Cure,  and  he  would  go  and  nurse  the  devil  himself,  if  he 


464  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

had  the  fever  in  his  parish.  They  became  wicked  before 
my  time,  and  Monsieur  le  Cure  has  forbidden  us  to  speak 
of  them  with  rancor,  so  we  do  not  speak  of  them  at  alt" 

I  walked  back  in  sadness,  wondering  at  this  strange 
misery  and  solitariness  by  the  side  of  the  healthy,  simple 
society  of  the  lonely  village,  with  its  interwoven  family  in- 
terests. As  I  passed  through  the  street  again,  I  heard  the 
click  of  the  hand-looms  in  most  of  the  dwellings,  and  saw 
the  pale-faced  weavers,  in  their  white  and  tasselled  caps, 
here  a  man  and  there  a  woman,  look  after  me,  while  they 
suspended  their  work  for  a  moment.  Every  door  was 
open ;  the  children  ran  in  and  out  of  any  house,  playing 
together  as  if  they  were  of  one  family ;  the  women  were 
knitting  in  companies  under  the  eaves.  Who  were  these 
pariahs,  whose  name  even  was  banished  from  every 
tongue?     I  must  ask  the  cure  himself. 

But  I  had  no  opportunity  that  day.  When  I  returned 
to  the  sick-ward,  I  found  Monsieur  Laurentie  pacing  slowly 
up  and  down  the  long  room,  with  Jean's  little  son  in  his 
arms,  to  whom  he  was  singing  in  a  low,  soft  voice,  scarcely 
louder  than  a  whisper.  His  eyes,  when  they  met  mine,  were 
glistening  with  tears,  and  he  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

I  went  on  to  look  at  Minima.  She  was  lying  quiet,  too 
weak  and  exhausted  to  be  violent,  but  chattering  all  the 
time  in  rapid,  childish  sentences.  J  could  do  nothing  for 
her,  and  I  went  back  to  the  hearth,  where  the  cure  was 
standing,  looking  sadly  at  the  child  in  his  arms.  He  bade 
me  sit  down  on  a  tabouret  that  stood  there,  and  laid  his 
little  burden  on  my  lap. 

"The  child  has  no  mother,  madame,"  he  said,  "let  him 
die  in  a  woman's  arms." 

I  had  never  seen  any  one  die,  not  even  my  father,  and 
I  shrank  from  seeing  it.  But  the  small  white  face  rested 
helplessly  against  my  arm,  and  the  blue  eyes  unclosed  for 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  465 

a  moment  and  gazed  into  mine,  almost  with  a  smile. 
Monsieur  Laurentie  called  in  Jean  and  Pierre,  and  they 
knelt  before  us  in  silence,  broken  only  by  sobs.  In  the 
room  there  were  children's  voices  talking  about  their 
toys,  and  calling  to  one  another  in  shrill,  feverish  accents. 
How  many  deaths  such  as  this  was  I  to  witness? 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure ! '"  murmured  the  failing  voice  of 
the  little  child. 

"  What  is  it,  my  little  one?  "  he  asked,  stooping  over  him. 

"Shall  I  play  sometimes  with  the  little  child  Jesus?  " 

The  words  fell  one  by  one  from  the  feeble  lips.  "  Yes, 
mon  cheri,  yes.  The  holy  child  Jesus  knows  what  little 
children  need,"  answered  the  Cure. 

"  He  is  always  good  and  wise,"  whispered  the  dying 
child;  "so  good,  so  wise." 

How  quickly  it  was  over  after  that! 

Minima  was  so  much  worse  that  night,  that  Monsieur 
Laurentie  gave  me  permission  to  sit  up  with  Mademoi- 
selle Therese  to  watch  beside  her.  There  was  a  kindly 
and  unselfish  disposition  about  Monsieur  le  Cure  which  it 
was  impossible  to  resist,  or  even  gainsay.  His  own  share 
of  the  trouble,  anxiety,  and  grief  was  so  large,  that  he 
seemed  to  stand  above  us  all,  and  be  naturally  our  direc- 
tor and  ruler.  But  to-night,  when  I  begged  to  stay  with 
Minima,  he  conceded  the  point  without  a  word. 

Mademoiselle  Therese  was  the  most  silent  woman  I 
ever  met.  She  could  pass  a  whole  day  without  uttering  a 
word,  and  did  not  seem  to  suffer  any  ennui  from  her  si- 
lence. In  the  house  she  wore  always,  like  the  other  in- 
habitants of  the  village,  men  and  women,  soundless  felt 
socks,  which  slipped  readily  into  the  wooden  sabots  used 
for  walking  out  of  doors.  I  was  beginning  to  learn  to 
walk  in  sabots  myself,  for  the  time  was  drawing  rapidly 
near  when  otherwise  I  should  be  barefoot. 
30 


466  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

With  this  taciturn  Frenchwoman  I  entered  upon  my 
night-watch  by  Minima,  whose  raving  no  one  could  un- 
derstand but  myself.  The  long,  dark  hours  seemed  in- 
terminable. Mademoiselle  sat  knitting  a  pair  of  gray 
stockings  in  the  intervals  of  attendance  upon  our  patients. 
The  subdued  glimmer  of  the  night-lamp,  the  ticking  of 
the  clock,  the  chimes  every  quarter  of  an  hour  from  the 
church-tower,  all  conspired  to  make  me  restless  and  al- 
most nervous. 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said  at  last,  "talk  tome.  I  cannot 
bear  this  tranquillity.     Tell  me  something." 

"What  can  I  tell  you,  madame?"  she  inquired,  in  a 
pleasant  tone. 

"  Tell  me  about  those  people  I  saw  this  morning,"  I 
answered. 

"  It  is  a  long  history,"  she  said,  her  face  kindling  as  if 
this  were  a  topic  that  excited  her;  and  she  rolled  up  her 
knitting  as  if  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  continue  that 
while  she  was  talking ;  "  all  the  world  knows  it  here,  and 
we  never  talk  of  it  now.  But  you  are  a  stranger;  shall  I 
tell  it  you?" 

I  had  hit  upon  the  only  subject  that  could  unlock  her 
lips.  It  was  the  night  time,  too.  At  night  one  is  naturally 
more  communicative  than  in  the  broad  light  of  day. 

"  Madame,"  she  said,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  you  have 
observed  already  that  my  brother  is  not  like  other  cures. 
He  has  his  own  ideas,  his  own  sentiments.  Everybody 
knows  him  at  this  moment  as  the  good  Cure  of  Ville-en- 
bois;  but  when  he  came  here  first,  thirty  years  ago,  all 
the  world  called  him  infidel,  heretic,  atheist.  It  was  be- 
cause he  would  make  many  changes  in  the  church  and 
parish.  The  church  had  been  famous  for  miracles ;  but 
Francis  did  not  believe  in  them,  and  he  would  not  en- 
courage them.     There  used  to  be  pilgrimages  to  it  from 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  467 

all  the  country  round,  and  crowds  of  pilgrims,  who  spend 
much  money.  There  was  a  great  number  of  crutches  left 
at  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin  by  cripples  who  had  come  here 
by  their  help,  but  walked  away  without  them.  He  cleared 
them  all  away,  and  called  them  rubbish.  So  every  one  said 
he  was  an  infidel — you  understand?  " 

"  I  understand  it  very  well,"  I  said. 

"  Bien !  At  that  time  there  was  one  family  richer  than 
all  the  others.  They  were  the  proprietors  of  the  factory 
down  yonder,  and  everybody  submitted  to  them.  There 
was  a  daughter  not  married,  but  very  devote.  1  have  been 
devote  myself.  I  was  coquette  till  I  was  thirty-five,  then 
I  became  devote.  It  is  easier  than  being  a  simple  Chris- 
tian, like  my  brother  the  cure.  Mademoiselle  Pineau  was 
accustomed  to  have  visions,  ecstasies,  sometimes  the 
angels  lifted  her  from  the  ground  into  the  air  when  she 
was  at  her  prayers.  Francis  did  not  like  that.  He  was 
young,  and  she  came  very  often  to  the  confessional,  and 
told  him  of  these  visions  and  ecstasies.  He  discouraged 
them,  and  enjoined  penances  upon  her.  Bref !  she  grew 
to  detest  him  and  she  was  quite  like  a  female  cure  in  the 
parish.  She  set  everybody  against  him.  At  last,  when  he 
removed  all  the  plaster  images  of  the  saints  and  would 
have  none  but  wood  or  stone,  she  had  him  cited  to  answer 
for  it  to  his  bishop." 

"But  what  did  he  do  that  for?  "  I  asked,  seeing  no  dif- 
ference between  plaster  images,  and  those  of  wood  or 
stone. 

"  Madame,  these  Normans  are  ignorant  and  very  super- 
stitious," she  repiled;  "they  thought  a  little  powder  from 
one  of  the  saints  would  cure  any  malady.  Some  of  the 
images  were  half  worn  away  with  having  powder  scraped 
off  them.  My  brother  would  not  hold  with  such  follies, 
and  his  bishop  told  him  he  might  fight  the  battle  out,  if 


468  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

he  could.  No  one  thought  he  could;  but  they  did  not 
know  Francis.  It  was  a  terrible  battle,  madame.  No- 
body would  come  to  the  confessional,  and  every  month  or 
so,  he  was  compelled  to  have  a  vicaire  from  some  other 
parish  to  receive  the  confessions  of  his  people.  Made- 
moiselle Pineau  fanned  the  flame,  and  she  had  the  repu- 
tation of  a  saint." 

"But  how  did  it  end?"  I  inquired.  Mademoiselle's 
face  was  all  aglow,  and  her  voice  rose  and  fell  in  her  ex- 
citement; yet  she  lingered  over  the  story  as  if  reluctant 
to  lose  the  rare  pleasure  of  telling  it. 

"  In  brief,  madame,"  she  resumed,  "  there  was  a  terrible 
conflagration  in  the  village.  You  perceive  that  all  our 
houses  are  covered  with  tiles?  In  those  days  the  roofs 
were  of  thatch,  very  old  and  very  dry,  and  there  was  much 
timber  in  the  walls.  How  the  fire  began,  the  good  God 
alone  knows.  It  was  a  sultry  day  in  July;  the  river  was 
almost  dry,  and  there  was  no  hope  of  extinguishing  the 
flames.  They  ran  like  lightning  from  roof  to  roof.  All 
that  could  be  done  was  to  save  life  and  a  little  property. 
My  brother  threw  off  his  cassock  and  worked  like  Her- 
cules. 

"The  Pineaus  lived  then  close  by  the  presbytery,  in  a 
house  half  of  wood,  which  blazed  like  tinder.  There  was 
nothing  comparable  to  it  in  all  the  village.  A  domestic 
suddenly  cried  out  that  mademoiselle  was  in  her  oratory, 
probably  in  a  trance.  Not  a  soul  dared  venture  through 
the  flames  to  save  her,  though  she  is  a  saint.  Monsieur 
le  Cure  hears  the  rumor  of  it;  he  steps  in  through  the 
door-way  through  which  the  smoke  is  rolling;  walks  in  as 
tranquilly  as  if  he  were  going  to  make  a  visit  as  pastor. 
He  is  lost  to  their  sight ;  not  a  man  stirs  to  look  after  his 
own  house.  Bref !  he  comes  back  to  the  day,  his  brown 
hair  all  singed  and  his  face  black,  carrying  mademoiselle 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  469 

in  his  arms.  Good.  The  battle  is  finished.  All  the 
world  adores  him." 

"  Continue,  mademoiselle,  I  pray  you,"  I  said  eagerly ; 
"  do  not  leave  off  there." 

"Bien!  Monsieur  le  Cure  and  his  unworthy  sister  had 
a  small  fortune  which  was  spent  for  the  people.  He 
begged  for  them ;  he  worked  with  them ;  he  learnt  to  do 
many  things  to  help  them.  He  lives  for  them  and  them 
only.  He  has  refused  to  leave  them  for  better  positions. 
They  are  not  ungrateful ;  they  love  him,  they  lean  upon 
him." 

"But  the  Pineaus?"  I  suggested. 

"  Bah !  I  had  forgotten  them.  Their  factory  was  burnt 
at  the  same  time.  It  is  more  than  a  kilometre  from  here ; 
but  who  can  say  how  far  the  burning  thatch  might  be 
carried  on  the  wind?  It  was  insured  for  a  large  sum  in  a 
bureau  in  Paris.  But  there  were  suspicions  raised  and 
questions  asked.  Our  sacristan,  Jean,  who  was  then  a 
young  boy,  affirmed  that  he  had  seen  some  one  carrying 
a  lighted  torch  about  the  building,  after  the  work-people 
had  all  fled  to  see  after  their  own  houses.  The  bureau 
refused  to  pay,  except  by  a  process  of  law,  and  the  Pi- 
neaus never  began  their  process.  They  worked  the  factory 
a  few  years  on  borrowed  money;  but  they  became  poor, 
very  poor.  Mademoiselle  ceased  to  be  ddvote,  and  did 
not  come  near  the  church  or  the  confessional  again.  Now 
they  are  despised  and  destitute ;  not  a  person  goes  near 
them,  except  my  good  brother,  whom  they  hate  still. 
There  remain  but  three  of  them — the  old  monsieur,  who 
is  very  aged,  a  son,  and  mademoiselle,  who  is  as  old  as 
myself.  The  son  has  the  fever,  and  Francis  visits  him 
almost  every  day." 

"It  is  a  wretched,  dreadful  place,"  I  said,  shuddering 
at  the  remembrance  of  it. 


470  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  They  will  die  there  probably,"  she  remarked,  in  a 
quiet  voice,  and  with  an  expression  of  some  weariness  now 
that  the  tale  was  told ;  "  my  brother  refuses  to  let  me  go 
to  see  them.  Mademoiselle  hates  me,  because  in  some 
part  I  have  taken  her  place.  Francis  says  there  is  work 
enough  for  me  at  home.  Madame,  I  believe  the  good 
God  sent  you  here  to  help  us." 

I  discovered  that  mademoiselle's  opinion  was  shared  by 
all  the  people  in  Ville-en-bois,  and  Monsieur  Laurentie 
favored  the  universal  impression.  I  had  been  sent  to 
them  by  a  special  Providence.  There  was  something  sat- 
isfactory and  consolatory  to  them  all  in  my  freedom  from 
personal  anxieties  and  cares  like  their  own.  I  had  neither 
parent,  nor  husband,  nor  child  to  be  attacked  by  the  pre- 
vailing infection. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  471 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

IN    PERIL. 

AS  soon  as  Minima  had  passed  safely  through  the  most 
dangerous  stages  of  the  fever,  I  was  at  leisure  to 
listen  to  and  sympathize  with  each  one  of  them.  Possibly 
there  was  something  in  the  difficulty  I  still  experienced  in 
expressing  myself  fluently  which  made  me  a  better  listener, 
and  so  won  them  to  pour  out  their  troubles  into  my  at- 
tentive ear.  Jean  and  Pierre  especially  were  devoted  to 
me,  since  the  child  that  had  belonged  to  them  had  died 
upon  my  lap. 

Through  March,  April,  and  May,  the  fever  had  its  fling, 
though  we  were  not  very  long  without  a  doctor.  Mon- 
sieur Laurentie  found  one  who  came,  and,  I  suppose,  did 
all  he  could  for  the  sick ;  but  he  could  not  do  much.  I 
was  kept  too  busily  occupied  to  brood  much  either  upon 
the  past  or  the  future  of  my  own  life.  Not  a  thought 
crossed  my  mind  of  deserting  the  little  Norman  village 
where  I  could  be  of  use.  Besides,  Minima  gained  strength 
very  slowly — too  slowly  to  be  removed  from  the  place,  or 
to  encounter  any  fresh  privations. 

When  June  came  there  were  no  new  cases  in  the  vil- 
lage, though  the  summer  heat  kept  our  convalescents  lan- 
guid. The  last  person  who  died  of  the  fever  was  Made- 
moiselle Pineau,  in  the  mill-cottage.  The  old  man  and 
his  son  had  died  before  her,  the  former  of  old  age,  the 
latter  of  fever.  Who  was  the  heir  to  the  ruined  factory 
and  the  empty  cottage  no  one  as  yet  knew,  but  until  he 


472  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

appeared  everything  had  to  be  left  as  it  was.  The  cure 
kept  the  key  of  the  dwelling,  though  there  was  no  danger 
of  any  one  trespassing  upon  the  premises,  as  all  the  vik 
lagers  regarded  it  as  an  accursed  place.  Of  the  four 
hundred  and  twenty-two  souls  which  had  formed  the  total 
of  Monsieur  le  Cure's  flock,  he  had  lost  thirty-one.  In 
July  the  doctor  left  us,  saying  there  was  no  fear  of  the 
fever  breaking  out  again  at  present.  His  departure 
seemed  the  signal  for  mine.  Monsieur  Laurentie  was  not 
rich  enough  to  feed  two  idle  mouths  like  mine  and 
Minima's,  and  there  was  little  for  me  to  do  but  sit  still  in 
the  uncarpeted,  barely  furnished  saloon  of  the  presbytery, 
listening  to  the  whirr  of  mademoiselle's  spinning-wheel, 
and  the  drowsy  sing-song  hum  of  the  village  children  at 
school,  in  a  shed  against  the  walls  of  the  house.  Every- 
thing seemed  falling  back  into  the  pleasant  monotony  of 
a  peaceful  country  life,  pleasant  after  the  terror  and  grief 
of  the  past  months.  The  hay-harvest  was  over,  and  the 
cherry-gathering ;  the  corn  and  the  apples  were  ripening 
fast  in  the  heat  of  the  sun.  In  this  lull,  this  pause,  my 
heart  grew  busy  again  with  itself. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  cure  to  me  one  evening,  when  his 
long  day's  work  was  over,  "your  face  is  triste.  What  are 
you  thinking  of?  " 

I  was  seated  under  a  thick-leaved  sycamore,  a  few 
paces  from  the  church  porch.  Vespers  were  just  ended; 
the  low  chant  had  reached  my  ears,  and  I  missed  the 
soothing  under-tune.  The  women  in  their  high  white 
caps  and  the  men  in  their  blue  blouses  were  sauntering 
slowly  homeward.  The  children  were  playing  all  down 
the  village  street,  and  not  far  away  a  few  girls  and  young 
men  were  beginning  to  dance  to  the  piping  of  a  flute. 
Over  the  whole  was  creeping  the  golden  twilight  of  a  sum- 
mer evening. 


THE  DOCTOR'S   DILEMMA. 


473 


"  I  am  very  triste,"  I  replied ;  "lam  thinking  that  it  is 
time  for  me  to  go  away  from  you  all.  I  cannot  stay  in 
this  tranquil  place." 

"But  wherefore  must  you  leave  us?"  he  asked,  sitting 
down  on  the  bench  beside  me;  "  I  found  two  little  stray 
lambs,  wandering  without  fold  or  shepherd,  and  I  brought 
them  to  my  own  house.  What  compels  them  to  go  out 
into  the  wide  world  again?  " 

"Monsieur,  we  are  poor,"  I  answered,  "and  you  are 
not  rich.  We  should  be  a  burden  to  you,  and  we  have  no 
claim  upon  you." 

"You  have  a  great  claim,"  he  said;  "there  is  not  a 
heart  in  the  parish  that  does  not  love  you  already.  Have 
not  our  children  died  in  your  arms?  Have  you  not 
watched  over  them?  spent  sleepless  nights  and  watchful 
days  for  them?  How  could  we  endure  to  see  you  go 
away?  Remain  with  us,  madame;  live  with  us,  you  and 
my  mignonne,  whose  face  is  white  yet." 

Could  I  stay,  then?  It  was  a  calm,  very  secure  refuge. 
There  was  no  danger  of  discovery.  Yet  there  was  a  rest- 
lessness in  my  spirit  at  war  with  the  half-mournful,  half- 
joyous  serenity  of  the  place,  where  I  had  seen  so  many 
people  die,  and  where  there  were  so  many  new  graves  in 
the  little  cemetery  up  the  hill.  If  I  could  go  away  for  a 
while,  I  might  return,  and  learn  to  be  content  amid  this 
tranquillity. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  pleasant  tones  of  Monsieur  Lau- 
rentie,  "  do  you  know  our  language  well  enough  to  tell  me 
your  history  now?  You  need  not  prove  to  me  that  you 
are  not  wicked;  tell  me  how  you  are  unfortunate.  Where 
were  you  wandering  to,  that  night,  when  I  found  you  at 
foot  of  the  Calvary?" 

There  in  the  cool,  deepening  twilight  I  told  him  my 
story,  little  by  little ;  sometimes  at  a  loss  for  words,  and 


474  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

always  compelled  to  speak  in  the  simplest  and  most  direct 
phrases.  He  listened  with  no  other  interruption  than  to 
supply  me  occasionally  with  an  expression  when  I  hesi- 
tated. He  appeared  to  understand  me  almost  by  intuition. 
It  was  quite  dark  before  I  had  finished,  and  the  deep  blue 
of  the  sky  above  us  was  bright  with  stars.  A  glow-worm 
was  moving  among  the  tufts  of  grass  growing  between  the 
roots  of  the  tree ;  and  I  watched  it  almost  as  intently  as 
if  I  had  nothing  else  to  think  of. 

"Speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  your  daughter,1'  I  said. 
"Have  I  done  right  or  wrong?  Would  you  give  me  up 
to  him,  if  he  came  to  claim  me?'' 

"  I  am  thinking  of  thee  as  my  daughter,"  he  answered, 
leaning  his  hands  and  his  white  head  above  them  upon 
the  top  of  the  stick  he  was  holding,  and  sitting  so  for  some 
moments  in  silent  thought.  "Thy  voice  is  not  the  voice 
of  passion,"  he  continued;  "it  is  the  voice  of  conviction, 
profound  and  confirmed.  Thou  mayest  have  fled  from 
him  in  a  paroxysm  of  wrath,  but  thy  judgment  and  thy 
conscience  acquit  thee  of  wrong.  In  my  eyes,  it  is  a  sac- 
rament which  thou  hast  broken ;  yet  he  had  profaned  it 
first.  My  daughter,  if  thy  husband  returned  to  thee  peni- 
tent, converted,  confessing  his  offences  against  thee, 
couldst  thou  forgive  him?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "yes!   I  could  forgive  him." 

"  Thou  wouldst  return  to  him?  "  he  said,  in  calm,  pene- 
trating accents,  but  so  low  as  to  seem  almost  the  voice  of 
my  own  heart;  " thou  wouldst  be  subject  to  him  as  the 
Church  is  subject  unto  Christ?  He  would  be  thy  head; 
wouldst  thou  submit  thyself  unto  him  as  unto  the 
Lord?" 

I  shivered  with  dread  as  the  quiet,  solemn  tones  fell 
upon  my  ear  poignantly,  as  if  they  must  penetrate  to  my 
heart.     I  could  not  keep  myself  from  sobbing.     His  face 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


475 


was  turned  toward  me  in  the  dusk,  and  I  covered  mine 
with  my  hands. 

"Not  now,"  I  cried;  "I  cannot,  I  cannot.  I  was  so 
young,  monsieur;  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  promising. 
I  could  never  return  to  him,  never!  " 

"  My  daughters-pursued  the  inexorable  voice  behind 
me,  "is  it  because  there  is  any  one  whom  thou  lovest 
more?  " 

"Oh !  "  I  cried,  almost  involuntarily,  and  speaking  now 
in  my  own  language,  "  I  do  not  know.  I  could  have 
loved  Martin  dearly — dearly." 

"  I  do  not  understand  thy  words,"  said  Monsieur  Lau- 
rentie,  "  but  I  understand  thy  tears  and  sighs.  Thou  must 
stay  here,  my  daughter,  with  me  and  these  poor,  simple 
people  who  love  thee.  I  will  not  let  thee  go  into  tempta- 
tion. Courage ;  thou  wilt  be  happy  among  us  when  thou 
hast  conquered  this  evil.  As  for  the  rest,  I  must  think 
about  it.  Let  us  go  in  now.  The  lamp  has  been  lit  and 
supper  served  this  half-hour.  There  is  my  sister  looking 
out  at  us.  Come,  madame,  you  are  in  my  charge,  and  I 
will  take  care  of  you." 

A  few  days  after  this,  the  whole  community  was  thrown 
into  a  tumult  by  the  news  that  their  cure  was  about  to 
undertake  the  perils  of  a  voyage  to  England,  and  would 
be  absent  a  whole  fortnight.  He  said  it  was  to  obtain 
some  information  as  to  the  English  system  of  drainage  in 
agricultural  districts,  which  might  make  their  own  valley 
more  healthy,  and  less  liable  to  fever.  But  it  struck  me 
that  he  was  about  to  make  some  inquiries  concerning  my 
husband,  and  perhaps  about  Minima,  whose  desolate  posi- 
tion had  touched  him  deeply.  I  ventured  to  tell  him 
what  danger  might  arise  to  me  if  any  clue  to  my  hiding- 
place  fell  into  Richard  Foster's  hands. 

"My  poor  child,"  he  said,  "why  art  thou  so  fearful? 


476  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

There  is  not  a  man  here  who  would  not  protect  thee. 
He  would  be  obliged  to  prove  his  identity  and  thine  be- 
fore he  could  establish  his  first  right  to  claim  thee.  Then 
we  would  enter  a  proces.  Be  content.  I  am  going  to 
consult  some  lawyers  of  my  own  country  and  thine." 

He  bade  us' farewell,  with  as  many  directions  and  in- 
junctions as  a  father  might  leave  to  a  large  family  of 
sons  and  daughters.  Half  the  village  followed  his  char- 
a-banc  as  far  as  the  cross  where  he  had  found  Minima 
and  me,  six  miles  on  his  road  to  Noireau.  His  sister  and 
I,  who  had  ridden  with  him  so  far,  left  him  there,  and 
walked  home  up  the  steep,  long  road,  in  the  midst  of  that 
enthusiastic  crowd  of  his  parishioners. 

The  afternoon  of  that  day  was  unusually  sultry  and  op- 
pressive. The  blue  of  the  sky  was  almost  livid.  I  was 
weary  with  the  long  walk  in  the  morning,  and  after  our 
mid-day  meal  I  stole  away  from  mademoiselle  and  Minima 
in  the  salon,  and  betook  myself  to  the  cool  shelter  of  the 
church,  where  the  stone  walls,  three  feet  thick,  and  the 
narrow  casements  covered  with  vine-leaves,  kept  out  the 
heat  more  effectually  than  the  half-timber  walls  of  the 
presbytery.  A  vicaire  from  a  neighboring  parish  was  to 
arrive  in  time  for  vespers,  and  Jean  and  Pierre  were  pol- 
ishing up  the  interior  of  the  church,  with  an  eye  to  their 
own  credit.  It  was  a  very  plain,  simple  building,  with  but 
few  images  in  it,  and  only  two  or  three  votive  pictures, 
very  ugly,  hanging  between  the  low  Norman  arches  of  the 
windows.  A  shrine  occupied  one  transept,  and  before  it 
the  offerings  of  flowers  were  daily  renewed  by  the  unmar- 
ried girls  of  the  village. 

I  sat  down  upon  a  bench  just  within  the  door,  and  the 
transept  was  not  in  sight,  but  I  could  hear  Pierre  busy  at 
his  task  of  polishing  the  oaken  floor  by  skating  over  it 
with  brushes  fastened  to  his  feet.     Jean  was  bustling  in 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  477 

and  out  of  the  sacristy,  and  about  the  high  altar  in  the 
chancel.  There  was  a  faint  scent  yet  of  the  incense  which 
had  been  burned  at  the  mass  celebrated  before  the  cure's 
departure,  enough  to  make  the  air  heavy  and  to  deepen 
the  drowsiness  and  languor  which  were  stealing  over  me. 
I  leaned  my  head  against  the  wall  and  closed  my  eyes, 
with  a  pleasant  sense  of  sleep  coming  softly  toward  me, 
when  suddenly  a  hand  was  laid  upon  my  arm,  with  a  firm, 
close,  silent  grip. 


478  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

RESCUE. 

I  DO  not  know  why  terror  always  strikes  me  dumb  and 
motionless.  I  did  not  stir  or  speak,  but  looked 
steadily,  with  a  fascinated  gaze,  into  my  husband's  face 
— a  worn,  white,  emaciated  #  face,  with  eyes  poring  cruelly 
into  mine.  It  was  an  awful  look ;  one  of  dark  triumph, 
of  sneering,  cunning  exultation.  Neither  of  us  spoke. 
Pierre  I  could  hear  still  busy  in  the  transept,  and  Jean, 
though  he  had  disappeared  into  the  sacristy,  was  within 
call.  Yet  I  felt  hopelessly  and  helplessly  alone  under  the 
cruel  stare  of  those  eyes.  It  seemed  as  if  he  and  I  were 
the  only  beings  in  the  whole  world,  and  there  was  none 
to  help,  none  to  rescue.  In  the  voiceless  depths  of  my 
spirit,  I  cried,  "O  God!" 

He  sank  down  on  the  seat  beside  me  with  an  air  of  ex- 
haustion, yet  with  a  low  fiendish  laugh  which  sounded 
hideously  loud  in  my  ears.  His  fingers  were  still  about 
my  arm,  but  he  had  to  wait  to  recover  from  the  first  shock 
of  his  success — for  it  had  been  a  shock.  His  face  was 
bathed  with  perspiration,  and  his  breath  came  and  went 
fitfully.  I  thought  I  could  even  hear  the  heavy  throbbing 
of  his  heart.  He  spoke  after  a  time,  while  my  eyes  were 
still  fastened  upon  him,  and  my  ears  listening  to  catch  the 
first  words  he  uttered. 

"  I've  found  you,"  he  said,  his  hand  tightening  its  hold, 
and  at  the  first  sound  of  his  voice  the  spell  which  bound 
me  snapped ;  "  IVe  tracked  you  out  at  last  to  this 
cursed  hole.     The  game  is  up,  my  little  lady.     By  heaven ! 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


479 


you'll  repent  of  this.  You  are  mine,  and  no  man  on 
earth  shall  come  between  us.'1 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  I  muttered.  He  had  spoken 
in  an  undertone,  and  I  could  not  raise  my  voice  above  a 
whisper,  so  parched  and  dry  my  throat  was. 

''Understand!"  he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
"  I  know  all  about  Dr.  Martin  Dobree.  You  understand 
that  well  enough.  I  am  here  to  take  charge  of  you,  to 
carry  you  home  with  me  as  my  wife,  and  neither  man  nor 
woman  can  interfere  with  me  in  that.  It  will  be  best  for 
you  to  come  with  me  quietly." 

"  I  will  not  go  with  you,"  I  answered  in  the  same  hoarse 
whisper ;  "  I  am  living  here  in  the  presbytery,  and  you 
cannot  force  me  away.     I  will  not  go." 

He  laughed  a  little  once  more,  and  looked  down  upon 
me  contemptuously  in  silence,  as  if  there  were  no  notice 
to  be  taken  of  words  so  foolish. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  continued.  "  When  I  refused  to  sign 
away  the  money  my  father  left  me,  it  was  because  I  said 
to  myself  it  was  wrong  to  throw  away  his  life's  toil  and 
skill  upon  pursuits  like  yours.  He  had  worked  and  saved, 
and  denied  himself  for  me,  not  for  a  man  like  you.  His 
money  should  not  be  flung  away  at  gambling-tables.  But 
now  I  know  he  would  rather  a  thousand  times  you  had  the 
money  and  left  me  free.  Take  it  then.  You  shall  have 
it  all.  We  are  both  poor  as  it  is,  but  if  you  will  let  me  be 
free  of  you,  you  may  have  it  all — all  that  I  can  part  with." 

"  I  prefer  having  the  money  and  you,"  he  replied,  with 
his  frightful  smile.  "Why  should  I  not  prize  what  other 
people  covet?  You  are  my  wife;  nothing  can  set  that 
aside.  Your  money  is  mine,  and  you  are  mine;  why 
should  I  forfeit  either?" 

"No,"  I  said,  growing  calmer;  "I  do  not  belong  to 
you.     No  laws  on  earth  can  give  you  the  ownership  you 


480  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

claim  over  me.  Richard,  you  might  have  won  me,  if  you 
had  been  a  good  man.  But  you  are  evil  and  selfish,  and 
you  have  lost  me  forever." 

"The  silly  raving  of  an  ignorant  girl!"  he  sneered; 
"  the  law  will  compel  you  to  return  to  me.  I  will  take  the 
law  into  my  own  hands,  and  compel  you  to  go  with  me  at 
once.  If  there  is  no  conveyance  to  be  hired  in  this  con- 
founded hole,  we  will  walk  down  the  road  together,  like 
two  lovers,  and  wait  for  the  omnibus.     Come,  Olivia." 

Our  voices  had  not  risen  much  above  their  undertones 
yet,  but  these  last  words  he  spoke  more  loudly.  Jean 
opened  the  door  of  the  sacristy  and  looked  out,  and 
Pierre  skated  down  to  the  corner  of  the  transept  to  see 
who  was  speaking.  I  lifted  the  hand  Richard  was  not 
holding,  and  beckoned  Jean  to  me. 

"  Jean,"  T  said,  "  this  man  is  my  enemy.  Monsieur  le 
Cure  knows  all  about  him ;  but  he  is  not  here.  You  must 
protect  me." 

"  Certainly,  madame,"  he  replied,  his  eyes  more  roundly 
open  than  ordinarily.  "  Monsieur,  have  the  goodness  to 
release  madame." 

"  She  is  my  wife,"  retorted  Richard  Foster. 

"  I  have  told  all  to  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  I  said. 

"Bon!  "  ejaculated  Jean.  "Monsieur  le  Cure  is  gone 
to  England ;  it  is  necessary  to  wait  till  his  return,  Mon- 
sieur Englishman." 

"Fool!  "  said  Richard  in  a  passion,  "she  is  my  wife,  I 
tell  you." 

"Bon!  "  he  replied,  phlegmatically,  "but  it  is  my  affair 
to  protect  madame.  There  is  no  resource  but  to  wait  till 
Monsieur  \e  Cure  returns  from  his  voyage.  If  madame 
does  not  say,  '  This  is  my  husband,'  how  can  I  believe 
you?  She  says,  '  He  is  my  enemy.'  I  cannot  confide 
madame  to  a  stranger." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  481 

"I  will  not  leave  her,"  he  exclaimed  with  an  oath, 
spoken  in  English,  which  Jean  could  not  understand. 

"Good!  very  good!  Pardon,  monsieur,"  responded 
Jean,  laying  his  iron  ringers  upon  the  hand  that  held  me, 
and  loosening  its  grip  as  easily  as  if  it  had  been  the  hand 
of  a  child.  "  Voila!  madame,  you  are  free.  Leave  Mon- 
sieur the  Englishman  to  me,  and  go  away  into  the  house, 
if  you  please." 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  any  further  altercation,  but  fled 
as  quickly  as  I  could  into  the  presbytery.  Up  into  my  own 
chamber  I  ran,  drew  a  heavy  chest  against  the  door,  and 
fell  down  trembling  and  nerveless  upon  the  floor  beside  it. 

But  there  was  no  time  to  lose  in  womanish  terrors;  my 
difficulty  and  danger  were  too  great.  The  cure  was  gone, 
and  would  be  away  at  least  a  fortnight.  How  did  I  know 
what  French  law  might  do  with  me,  in  that  time?  I 
dragged  myself  to  the  window,  and  with  my  face  just 
above  the  sill,  looked  down  the  street,  to  see  if  my  hus- 
band were  in  sight.  He  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but 
loitering  at  one  of  the  doors  was  the  letter-carrier,  whose 
daily  work  it  was  to  meet  the  afternoon  omnibus  running 
from  Noireau  to  Granville.  Why  should  I  not  write  to 
Tardif  ?  He  had  promised  to  come  to  my  help  whenever 
and  wherever  I  might  summon  him.  I  ran  down  to  Made- 
moiselle Therese  for  the  materials  for  a  letter,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  it  was  written,  and  on  the  way  to  Sark. 

I  was  still  watching  intently  from  my  own  casement, 
when  I  saw  Richard  Foster  come  round  the  corner  of  the 
church,  and  turn  down  the  street.  Many  of  the  women 
were  at  their  doors,  and  he  stopped  to  speak  to  first  one 
and  then  another.  I  guessed  what  he  wanted.  There 
was  no  inn  in  the  valley,  and  he  was  trying  to  hire  a  lodg- 
ing for  the  night.  But  Jean  was  following  him  closely, 
and  from  every  house  he  was  turned  away,  baffled  and 
3i 


482  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

disappointed.  He  looked  weary  and  bent,  and  he  leaned 
heavily  upon  a  strong  stick  he  carried.  At  last  he  passed 
slowly  out  of  sight,  and  once  more  I  could  breathe  freely. 

But  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  venture  down-stairs, 
where  the  uncurtained  windows  were  level  with  the  court, 
and  the  unfastened  door  opened  to  any  hand.  The  night 
fell  while  I  was  still  alone,  unnerved  by  the  terror  I  had 
undergone.  Here  and  there  a  light  glimmered  in  a  lattice- 
window,  but  a  deep  silence  reigned,  with  no  other  sound 
than  the  brilliant  song  of  a  nightingale  amid  the  trees 
which  girdled  the  village.  Suddenly  there  was  the  noisy 
rattle  of  wheels  over  the  rough  pavement,  the  baying  of 
dogs,  an  indistinct  shout  from  the  few  men  who  were 
still  smoking  their  pipes  under  the  broad  eaves  of  their 
houses.  A  horrible  dread  took  hold  of  me.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  had  returned  with  some  force — I  knew  not 
what — which  should  drag  me  away  from  my  refuge,  and 
give  me  up  to  him?  What  would  Jean  and  the  villagers 
do?     What  could  they  do  against  a  body  of  gens-d'arme? 

I  'gazed  shrinkingly  into  the  darkness.  The  convey- 
ance looked,  so  far  as  I  could  make  out  its  shape,  very 
like  the  char-a-banc,  which  was  not  to  return  from  Noi- 
reau  till  the  next  day.  But  there  was  only  the  gleam  of 
the  lantern  it  carried  on  a  pole  rising  above  its  roof,  and 
throwing  cross-beams  of  light  upon  the  walls  and  windows 
on  each  side  of  the  street.  It  came  on  rapidly,  and 
passed  quickly  out  of  my  sight  round  the  angle  of  the 
presbytery.  My  heart  scarcely  beat,  and  my  ear  was 
strained  to  catch  every  sound  in  the  house  below. 

I  heard  hurried  footsteps  and  joyous  voices.  A  minute 
or  two  aftei  ward,  Minima  beat  against  my  barricaded  door, 
and  shouted  gleefully  through  the  key-hole. 

"Come  down  in  a  minute,  Aunt  Nelly,"  she  cried; 
"  Monsieur  Laurentie  is  come  home  again!  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  483 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Pierre's  secret. 

1FELT  as  if  some  strong  hand  had  lifted  me  out  of  a 
whirl  of  troubled  waters  and  set  me  safely  upon  a 
rock.  I  ran  down  into  the  salon,  where  Monsieur  Lau- 
rentie  was  seated  as  tranquilly  as  if  he  had  never  been 
away,  in  his  high-backed  arm-chair,  smiling  quietly  at 
Minima's  gambols  of  delight,  which  ended  in  her  sitting 
down  on  a  tabouret  at  his  feet.  Jean  stood  just  within 
the  door,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  holding  his  white 
cotton  cap  in  them ;  he  had  been  making  his  report  of  the 
day's  events.  Monsieur  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  I 
ran  to  him,  caught  it  in  both  of  mine,  bent  down  my  face 
upon  it,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping,  in  spite  of 
myself. 

"  Come,  come,  madame!  "  he  said,  his  own  voice  falter- 
ing a  little,  "I  am  here,  my  child;  behold  me!  There  is 
no  place  for  fear  now.  I  am  king  in  Ville-en-bois ;  is  it 
not  so,  my  good  Jean?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure,  you  are  emperor,"  replied  Jean. 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  he  continued,  madame  is  per- 
fectly secure  in  my  castle.  You  do  not  ask  me  what 
brings  me  back  again  so  soon.  But  I  will  tell  you,  ma- 
dame. At  Noireau,  the  proprietor  of  the  omnibus  to 
Granville  told  me  that  an  Englishman  had  gone  that 
morning  to  visit  my  little  parish.  Good!  We  do  not 
have  that  honor  every  day.  I  asked  him  to  have  the 
goodness  to  tell  me  the  Englishman's  name.     It  is  written 


484  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

in  the  book  at  the  bureau,  Monsieur  Fostere.  I  remem- 
ber that  name  well,  very  well.  That  is  the  name  of  the 
husband  of  my  little  English  daughter.  Fostere!  I  see  in 
a  moment  it  will  not  do  to  proceed  on  my  voyage.  But  I 
find  that  my  good  Jacques  has  taken  on  tke  char-a  banc 
a  league  or  two  beyond  Noireau,  and  I  am  compelled  to 
await  his  return.  There  is  the  reason  that  I  return  so 
late." 

"O  monsieur!  "  I  exclaimed,  "how  good  you  are " 

"Pardon,  madame,"  he  interrupted,  "let  me  hear  the 
end  of  Jean's  history." 

Jean  continued  his  report  in  his  usual  phlegmatic  tone, 
and  concluded  with  the  assurance  that  he  had  seen  the 
Englishman  safe  out  of  the  village,  and  returning  by  the 
road  he  came. 

"  I  could  have  wished,"  said  the  cure  regretfully,  "  that 
we  might  have  shown  him  some  hospitality  in  Ville-en- 
bois;  but  you  did  what  was  very  good,  Jean.  Yet  we  did 
not  encounter  any  stranger  along  the  route." 

"  Not  possible,  monsieur,"  replied  Jean ;  "  it  was  four 
o'clock  when  he  returned  on  his  steps,  and  it  is  now  after 
nine.  He  would  pass  the  Calvary  before  six.  After  that, 
Monsieur  le  Cure,  he  might  take  any  route  which  pleased 
him." 

"  That  is  true,  Jean,"  he  said  mildly ;  "  you  have  done 
well.    You  may  go  now.    Where  is  Monsieur  the  Vicaire?" 

"He  sleeps,  monsieur,  in  the  guest's  chamber,  as 
usual." 

"  Bien !     Good  evening,  Jean,  and  a  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  and  all  the  company," 
said  Jean. 

"And  you  also,  my  child,"  continued  Monsieur  Lau- 
rentie,  when  Jean  was  gone,  "  you  have  great  need  of  rest. 
So  has  this  baby,  who  is  very  sleepy." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  485 

"  I  am  not  sleepy,"  protested  Minima,  "  and  I  am  not  a 
baby." 

"  You  are  a  baby,"  said  the  cure,  laughing,  "  to  make 
such  rejoicing  over  an  old  papa  like  me.  But  go  now, 
my  children.  There  is  no  danger  for  you.  Sleep  well, 
and  have  pleasant  dreams." 

I  slept  well,  but  I  had  no  pleasant  dreams,  for  I  did 
not  dream  at  all.  The  cure's  return,  and  his  presence 
under  the  same  roof,  gave  me  such  a  sense  of  security  as 
was  favorable  to  profound,  unbroken  slumber.  When  the 
chirping  of  the  birds  awoke  me  in  the  morning,  I  could 
not  at  first  believe  that  the  events  of  the  day  before  were 
not  themselves  a  dream.  The  bell  rang  for  matins  at  five 
o'clock  now,  to  give  the  laborers  the  cool  of  the  morning 
for  their  work  in  the  fields,  after  they  were  over.  I  could 
not  sleep  again,  for  the  coming  hours  must  be  full  of  sus- 
pense and  agitation  to  me.  So  at  the  first  toll  of  the  deep- 
toned  bell,  I  dressed  myself,  and  went  out  into  the  dewy 
freshness  of  the  new  day. 

Matins  were  ended,  and  the  villagers  were  scattering 
about  their  farms  and  households,  when  I  noticed  Pierre 
loitering  stealthily  about  the  presbytery,  as  if  anxious  not 
to  be  seen.  He  made  me  a  sign  as  soon  as  he  caught  my 
eye,  to  follow  him  out  of  sight,  round  the  corner  of  the 
church.  It  was  a  mysterious  sign,  and  I  obeyed  it 
quickly. 

"  I  know  a  secret,  madame,"  he  said,  in  a  troubled  tone, 
and  with  an  apprehensive  air.  "  That  monsieur  who  came 
yesterday  has  not  left  the  valley.  My  father  bade  me 
stay  in  the  church,  at  my  work,  but  I  could  not,  ma- 
dame, I  could  not.  Not  possible,  you  know.  I  wished 
to  see  your  enemy  again.  I  shall  have  to  confess  it  to 
Monsieur  le  Cure,  and  he  will  give  me  a  penance,  per- 
haps a  very  great  penance.     But  it  was  not  possible  to 


486  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

rest  tranquil,  not  at  all.  I  followed  monsieur,  your  enemy, 
a  la  derobee.     He  did  not  go  far  away." 

"But  where  is  he  then?"  I  asked,  looking  down  the 
street,  with  a  thrill  of  fear. 

"  Madame,"  whispered  Pierre,  "  he  is  a  stranger  to  this 
place,  and  the  people  would  not  receive  him  into  their 
houses — not  one  of  them.  My  father  only  said,  '  He  is  an 
enemy  to  our  dear  English  madame,'  and  all  the  women 
turned  their  back  upon  him.  I  stole  after  him,  you  know, 
behind  the  trees  and  the  hedges.  He  marched  very 
slowly,  like  a  man  very  weary,  down  the  road,  till  he  came 
in  sight  of  the  factory  of  the  late  Pineaux.  He  turned 
aside  into  the  court  there.  I  saw  him  knock  at  the  door 
of  the  house,  try  to  lift  the  latch,  and  peep  through  the 
windows.  Bien!  After  that  he  goes  into  the  factory; 
there  is  a  door  from  it  into  the  house.  He  passed  through. 
I  dared  not  follow  him,  but  in  one  short  half-hour  I  saw 
smoke  coming  out  of  the  chimney.  Bon!  The  smoke 
is  there  again  this  morning.  The  Englishman  has  so- 
journed there  all  the  night." 

"  But,  Pierre,"  I  said,  shivering,  though  the  sun  was  al- 
ready shining  hotly — "  Pierre,  the  house  is  like  a  lazaretto. 
No  one  has  been  in  it  since  Mademoiselle  Pineau  died. 
Monsieur  le  Cure  locked  it  up,  and  brought  away  the 
key." 

"That  is  true,  madame,11  answered  the  boy;  "no  one 
in  the  village  would  go  near  the  accursed  place,  but  I 
never  thought  of  that.  Perhaps  monsieur  your  enemy 
will  take  the  fever  and  perish.11 

"Run,  Pierre,  run,11  I  cried;  "Monsieur  Laurentie  is 
in  the  sacristy  with  the  strange  vicaire.  Tell  him  I  must 
speak  to  him  this  very  moment.  There  is  no  time  to  be 
lost." 

I  dragged  myself  to  the  seat  under  the  sycamore  tree 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  487 

and  hid  my  face  in  my  hands,  while  shudder  after  shud- 
der quivered  through  me.  I  seemed  to  be  watching  him 
again,  as  he  strode  weariedly  down  the  street,  leaning  with 
bent  shoulders  on  his  stick,  and  turned  away  from  every 
door  at  which  he  asked  for  rest  and  shelter  for  the  night. 
Oh!  that  the  time  could  but  come  back  again,  that  I 
might  send  Jean  to  find  some  safe  place  for  him  where  he 
could  sleep!  Back  to  my  memory  rushed  the  old  days, 
when  he  screened  me  from  the  unkindness  of  my  step- 
mother, and  when  he  seemed  to  love  me.  For  the  sake 
of  those  times,  would  to  God  the  evening  that  was  gone, 
and  the  sultry,  breathless  night  could  only  come  back 
again. 


488 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


SUSPENSE. 


I  FELT  as  if  I  had  passed  through  an  immeasurable 
spell,  both  of  memory  and  anguish,  before  Monsieur 
Laurentie  came  to  me,  though  he  had  responded  to  my 
summons  immediately.  I  told  him  in  hurried,  broken 
sentences  what  Pierre  had  confessed  to  me.  His  face 
grew  overcast  and  troubled ;  yet  he  did  not  utter  a  word 
of  his  apprehensions  to  me. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  permit  me  to  take  my  breakfast 
first ;  then  I  will  seek  Monsieur  Fostere  without  delay.  I 
will  carry  with  me  some  food  for  him.  We  will  arrange 
this  affair  before  I  return.  Jean  shall  bring  the  char-a- 
banc  to  the  factory,  and  take  him  back  to  Noireau." 

"But  the  fever,  monsieur?  Can  he  pass  a  night  there 
without  taking  it?" 

"  He  is  in  the  hands  of  his  Creator,"  he  answered ;  "  we 
can  know  nothing  till  I  have  seen  him.  We  cannot  call 
back  the  past." 

"  Ought  I  not  to  go  with  you?  "  I  asked. 

"Wherefore,  my  child?" 

"He  is  my  husband,"  I  said  falteringly;  "if  he  is  ill,  I 
will  nurse  him." 

"Good!  my  poor  child,"  he  replied,  "leave  all  this 
affair  to  me ;  leave  even  thy  duty  to  me.  I  will  take  care 
there  shall  be  no  failure  in  it,  on  my  part." 

We  were  not  many  minutes  over  our  frugal  breakfast  of 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  489 

bread  and  milk,  and  then  we  set  out  together,  for  he  gave 
me  permission  to  go  with  him,  until  we  came  within  sight 
of  the  factory  and  the  cottage.  We  walked  quickly,  and 
in  foreboding  silence.  He  told  me,  as  soon  as  we  sav/ 
the  place,  that  I  might  stay  in  the  spot  where  he  left  mt 
till  the  church  clock  struck  eight ;  and  then,  if  he  had  not 
returned  to  me,  I  must  go  back  to  the  village,  and  send 
Jean  with  the  char-a-banc.  I  sat  down  on  the  felled 
trunk  of  a  tree,  and  watched  him,  in  his  old  threadbare 
cassock  and  sunburnt  hat,  crossing  the  baked,  cracked 
soil  of  the  court,  till  he  reached  the  door,  and  turned 
round  to  lift  his  hat  to  me  with  a  kindly  gesture  of  fare- 
well. He  fitted  the  key  into  the  lock,  and  passed  out  of 
my  sight;  but  I  could  not  withdraw  my  eyes  from  the 
deep,  thatched  eaves,  and  glossy  fleurs-de-lys  growing 
along  the  roof. 

How  interminable  seemed  his  absence!  I  sat  so  still 
that  the  crickets  and  grasshoppers  in  the  tufted  grass 
about  me  kept  up  their  ceaseless  chirruping,  and  leaped 
about  my  feet,  unaware  that  I  could  crush  their  merry  life 
out  of  them  by  a  single  movement.  The  birds  in  the 
dusky  branches  overhead  whistled  their  wild  wood-notes 
as  gayly  as  if  no  one  were  near  their  haunts.  Now  and 
then  there  came  a  pause,  when  the  silence  deepened  until 
I  could  hear  the  cones  in  the  fir-trees  close  at  hand 
snapping  open  their  polished  scales,  and  setting  free  the 
winged  seeds,  which  fluttered  softly  down  to  the  ground. 
The  rustle  of  a  swiftly  gliding  snake  through  the  fallen 
leaves  caught  my  ear,  and  I  saw  the  blunted  head  and 
glittering  eyes  lifted  up  to  look  at  me  for  a  moment ;  but 
I  did  not  stir.  All  my  fear  and  feeling,  my  whole  life, 
was  centred  upon  the  fever-cottage  yonder. 

There  was  not  the  faintest  line  of  smoke  from  the 
chimney  when  we  first  came  in  sight  of  it.     Was  it  not 


490  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 

quite  possible  that  Pierre  might  have  been  mistaken? 
And  if  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  thinking  he  saw  smoke 
this  morning,  why  not  last  night  also?  Yet  the  cure  was 
lingering  there  too  long  for  it  to  be  merely  an  empty 
place.  Something  detained  him,  or  why  did  he  not  come 
back  to  me?  Presently  a  blue,  thin  smoke  curled  upward 
into  the  still  air.  Monsieur  Laurentie  was  kindling  a  fire 
on  the  hearth.     He  was  there  then. 

What  would  be  the  end  of  it  all?  My  heart  contracted 
and  my  soul  shrank  from  the  answer  that  was  ready  to 
flash  upon  my  mind.  I  refused  to  think  of  the  end.  If 
Richard  were  ill,  why,  I  would  nurse  him  as  I  should  have 
nursed  him  if  he  had  always  been  tender  and  true  to  me. 
That  at  least  was  a  clear  duty.  What  lay  beyond  that 
need  not  be  decided  upon  now.  Monsieur  Laurentie 
would  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do. 

He  came,  after  a  long,  long  suspense,  and  opened  the 
door,  looking  out  as  if  to  make  sure  that  I  was  still  at  my 
post.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  was  running  forward, 
when  he  beckoned  me  to  remain  where  I  was.  He  came 
across  to  the  middle  of  the  court,  but  no  nearer,  and  he 
spoke  to  me  at  that  distance  in  his  clear,  deliberate, 
penetrating  voice. 

"My  child,"  he  said,  "monsieur  is  ill!  attacked,  I  am 
afraid,  by  the  fever.  He  is  not  delirious  at  present,  and 
we  have  been  talking  together  of  many  things.  But  the 
fever  has  taken  hold  upon  him,  I  think.  I  shall  remain 
with  him  all  this  day.  You  must  bring  us  what  we  have 
need  of,  and  leave  it  on  the  stone  there,  as  it  used  to  be." 

"But  cannot  he  be  removed  at  once?  "  I  asked. 

"My  dear,"  he  answered,  "what  can  I  do?  The  vil- 
lage is  free  from  sickness  now ;  how  can  I  run  the  risk  of 
carrying  the  fever  there  again?  It  is  too  far  to  send  mon- 
sieur to  Noireau.     If  he  is  ill  of  it,  it  is  best  for  us  all  that 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  491 

he  should  remain  here.  I  will  not  abandon  him ;  no,  no. 
Obey  me,  my  child,  and  leave  him  to  me  and  to  God. 
Cannot  you  confide  in  me  yet?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  weeping,  "  I  trust  you  with  all  my  heart." 

"  Go  then,  and  do  what  I  bid  you,"  he  replied.  "  Tell 
my  sister  and  Jean,  tell  all  my  people,  that  no  one  must 
intrude  upon  me,  no  one  must  come  nearer  this  house 
than  the  appointed  place.  Monsieur  le  Vicaire  must  re- 
main in  Ville-en-bois,  and  officiate  for  me,  as  though  I 
were  pursuing  my  journey  to  England.  You  must  think 
of  me  as  one  absent,  yet  close  at  hand;  that  is  the  differ- 
ence. I  am  here,  in  the  path  of  my  duty.  Go,  and  fulfil 
yours." 

"  Ought  you  not  to  let  me  share  your  work  and  your 
danger?  "  I  ventured  to  ask. 

"  If  there  be  any  need,  you  shall  share  both,"  he  an- 
swered, with  a  tranquil  smile,  "  though  your  life  should  be 
the  penalty.  Life  is  nothing  in  comparison  with  duty. 
When  it  is  thy  duty,  my  daughter,  to  be  beside  thy  hus- 
band, I  will  call  thee  without  fail." 

Slowly  I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  village.  The  news 
had  already  spread  from  Pierre — for  no  one  else  knew  it 
— that  the  Englishman  who  had  been  turned  away  from 
their  doors  the  day  before  had  spent  the  night  in  the  in- 
fected dwelling.  A  group  of  weavers,  of  farmers,  of 
women  from  their  household  work,  stopped  me  as  I  en- 
tered the  street.  I  delivered  to  them  their  cure's  mes- 
sage, and  they  received  it  with  sobs  and  cries,  as  though 
it  bore  in  it  the  prediction  of  a  great  calamity.  They 
followed  me  up  the  street  to  the  presbytery,  and  crowded 
the  little  court  in  front  of  it. 

When  mademoiselle  had  collected  the  things  Monsieur 
Laurentie  had  sent  me  for — a  mattress,  a  chair,  food,  and 
medicine — every  person  in  the  crowd  wished  to  carry  some 


49  2 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


small  portion  of  them.  We  returned  in  a  troop  to  the 
factory,  and  stood  beyond  the  stone,  a  group  of  sorrowful, 
almost  despairing  people.  In  a  few  minutes  we  saw  the 
cure  open  the  door,  close  it  behind  him,  and  stand  before 
the  proscribed  dwelling.  His  voice  came  across  the  space 
between  us  and  him  in  distinct  and  cheerful  tone?. 

"  My  good  children,"  he  said,  "  I,  your  priest,  forbid 
any  one  of  you  to  come  a  single  step  nearer  to  this  house. 
It  may  be  but  for  a  day  or  two,  but  let  no  one  venture  to 
disobey  me.  Think  of  me  as  though  I  had  gone  to  Eng- 
land and  should  be  back  again  among  you  in  a  few  days. 
God  is  here,  as  near  to  me  under  this  roof  as  when  I 
stand  before  him  and  you  at  his  altar." 

He  lifted  up  his  hands  to  give  them  his  benediction 
and  we  all  knelt  to  receive  it.  Then,  with  unquestioning 
obedience,  but  with  many  lamentations,  the  people  re- 
turned to  their  daily  work. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  493 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A     MALIGNANT    CASE. 

FOR  three  days,  morning  after  morning,  while  the  dew 
lay  still  upon  the  grass,  I  went  down,  with  a  heavy 
and  foreboding  heart,  to  the  place  where  I  could  watch 
the  cottage  through  the  long  sultry  hours  of  the  summer 
day.  The  first  thing  I  saw  always  Monsieur  Laurentie, 
who  came  to  the  door  to  satisfy  me  that  he  was  himself 
in  good  health,  and  to  tell  me  how  Richard  Foster  had 
passed  the  night.  After  that  I  caught  from  time  to  time 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  his  white  head,  as  he  passed  the 
dusky  window.  He  would  not  listen  to  my  entreaties  to 
be  allowed  to  join  him  in  his  task.  It  was  a  malignant 
case,  he  said,  and  as  my  husband  was  unconscious,  I 
could  do  him  no  good  by  running  the  risk  of  being  near 
him. 

An  invisible  line  encircled  the  pestilential  place,  which 
none  of  us  dare  break  through  without  the  permission  of 
the  cure,  though  any  one  of  the  villagers  would  have  re- 
joiced if  he  had  summoned  them  to  his  aid.  A  perpetual 
intercession  was  offered  up  day  and  night  before  the  high 
altar  by  the  people,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  eager  can- 
didates ready  to  take  up  the  prayer  when  the  one  who 
had  been  praying  grew  weary.  On  the  third  morning  I 
felt  that  they  were  beginning  to  look  at  me  with  altered 
faces,  and  speak  to  me  in  colder  accents.  If  I  were 
the  means  of  bringing  upon  them  the  loss  of  their  cure, 
they  would  curse  the  day  he  found  me  and  brought  me  to 


494  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

his  home.  I  left  the  village  street  half  broken-hearted, 
and  wandered  hopelessly  down  to  my  chosen  post. 

I  thought  I  was  alone,  but  as  I  sat  with  my  head  bowed 
down  upon  my  hands,  I  felt  a  child's  hand  laid  upon  my 
neck,  and  Minima's  voice  spoke  plaintively  in  my  ear. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Aunt  Nelly?  "  she  asked.  "  Every- 
body is  in  trouble,  and  mademoiselle  says  it  is  because 
your  husband  is  come,  and  Monsieur  Laurentie  is  going 
to  die  for  his  sake.  She  began  to  cry  when  she  said  that, 
and  she  said,  f  What  shall  we  all  do  if  my  brother  dies  ? 
My  God!  what  will  become  of  all  the  people  in  Vill-en- 
bois?  '  Is  it  true?  Is  your  husband  really  come,  and  is 
he  going  to  die?  " 

"  He  is  come,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  is  going  to  die." 

"Is  he  so  poor  that  he  will  die?"  she  asked  again. 
"  Why  does  God  let  people  be  so  poor  that  they  must 
die?" 

"  It  is  not  because  he  is  so  poor  that  he  is  ill,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  But  my  father  died  because  he  was  so  poor,"  she  said ; 
"  the  doctors  told  him  he  could  get  well  if  he  had  only 
enough  money.  Perhaps  your  husband  will  not  die  if 
he  is  not  very  poor." 

"  No,  no,"  I  cried  vehemently,  "  he  is  not  dying  through 
poverty." 

Yet  the  child's  words  had  a  sting  in  them,  for  I  knew 
he  had  been  poor,  in  consequence  of  my  act.  I  thought 
of  the  close,  unwholesome  house  in  London,  where  he  had 
been  living.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  it,  and  wonder- 
ing whether  any  loss  of  vital  strength,  born  of  poverty, 
had  caused  him  to  fall  more  easily  a  prey  to  this  fever.  My 
brain  was  burdened  with  sorrowful  questions  and  doubts. 
I   sent   Minima  back  to  the  village  before  the  morning 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  495 

heat  grew  strong,  and  then  I  was  alone,  watching  the  cot- 
tage through  the  fine  haze  of  heat  which  hung  tremulously 
about  about  it.  The  song  of  every  bird  was  hushed ;  the 
shouts  of  the  harvest  men  to  their  oxen  ceased ;  and  the 
only  sound  that  stirred  the  still  air  was  the  monotonous 
striking  of  the  clock  in  the  church-tower.  I  had  not  seen 
Monsieur  Laurentie  since  his  first  greeting  of  me  in  the 
early  morning.  A  panic  fear  seized  upon  me.  Suppose 
he  should  have  been  stricken  suddenly  by  this  deadly  mal- 
ady! I  called,  softly  at  first,  then  loudly,  but  no  answer 
came  to  comfort  me.  If  this  old  man,  worn  out  and  ex- 
hausted, had  actually  given  his  life  for  Richard's,  what 
would  become  of  me?    What  would  become  of  all  of  us? 

Step  by  step,  pausing  often,  yet  urged  on  by  my  grow- 
ing fears,  I  stole  down  the  parched  and  beaten  track  to- 
ward the  house,  then  called  once  more  to  the  oppressive 
silence. 

Here  in  the  open  sunshine,  with  the  hot  walls  of  the 
mill  casting  its  rays  back  again,  the  heat  was  intense, 
though  the  white  cap  I  wore  protected  my  head  from  it. 
My  eyes  were  dazzled,  and  I  felt  ready  to  faint.  No 
wonder  if  Monsieur  Laurentie  should  have  sunk  under  it 
and  the  long  strain  upon  his  energies,  which  would  have 
overtaxed  a  younger  and  stronger  man.  I  had  passed  the 
invisible  line  which  his  will  had  drawn  about  the  place, 
and  had  half  crossed  the  court,  when  I  heard  footsteps 
close  behind  me,  and  a  large,  brown,  rough  hand  suddenly 
caught  mine. 

"  Mam'zelle!  "  cried  a  voice  I  knew  well,  "is  this  you?  " 

"O  Tardif,  Tardif!"  I  exclaimed.  I  rested  my  beat- 
ing head  against  him,  and  sobbed  violently,  while  he  sur- 
rounded me  with  his  strong  arm,  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
my  head,  as  if  to  assure  me  of  his  help  and  protection. 

"  Hush,  hush !  mam'zelle,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  Tardif,  your 


496  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

friend,  my  little  mam'zelle;  your  servant,  you  know, 
am  here.     What  shall  I  do  for  you?     Is  there  any  person 
in  yonder  house  who  frightens  you,  my  poor  little  mam'- 
zelle?    Tell  me  what  I  can  do?  " 

He  had  drawn  me  back  into  the  green  shade  of  the 
trees,  and  set  me  down  upon  the  felled  tree  where  I  had 
been  sitting  before.  I  told  him  all  quickly,  briefly — all 
that  had  happened  since  I  had  written  to  him.  I  saw  the 
tears  start  to  his  eyes. 

"  Thank  God  I  am  here,"  he  said ;  "  I  lost  no  time, 
mam'zelle,  after  your  letter  reached  me.  I  will  save 
Monsieur  le  Cure  ;  I  will  save  them  both,  if  I  can.  Ma 
f oi !  he  is  a  good  man,  this  cure,  and  we  must  not  let  him 
perish.  He  has  no  authority  over  me,  and  I  will  go  this 
moment  and  force  my  way  in,  if  the  door  is  fastened. 
Adieu,  my  dear  little  mam'zelle." 

He  was  gone  before  I  could  speak  a  word,  striding  with 
quick,  energetic  tread  across  the  court.  The  closed  door 
under  the  eaves  opened  readily.  In  an  instant  the  white 
head  of  Monsieur  Laurentie  passed  the  casement,  and  I 
could  hear  the  hum  of  an  earnest  altercation,  though  I 
could  not  catch  a  syllable  of  it.  But  presently  Tardif  ap- 
peared again  in  the  doorway,  waving  his  cap  in  token  of 
having  gained  his  point. 

I  went  back  to  the  village  at  once  to  carry  the  good 
news,  for  it  was  the  loneliness  of  the  cure  that  had  weighed 
so  heavily  on  every  heart,  though  none  among  them  dared 
brave  his  displeasure  by  setting  aside  his  command.  The 
quarantine  was  observed  as  rigidly  as  ever,  but  fresh  hope 
and  confidence  beamed  upon  every  face,  and  I  felt  that 
they  no  longer  avoided  me,  as  they  had  begun  to  do  be- 
fore Tardif's  arrival.  Now  Monsieur  Laurentie  could 
leave  his  patient,  and  sit  under  the  sheltering  eaves  in  the 
cool  of  the  morning  or  evenirg,  while  his  people  could 


■ 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


497 


satisfy  themselves  from  a  distance  that  he  was  still  in 
health. 

The  physician  whom  Jean  fetched  from  Noireau  spoke 
vaguely  of  Richard's  case.  It  was  very  malignant,  he 
said — full  of  danger — and  apparently  his  whole  constitution 
had  been  weakened  by  some  protracted  and  grave  malady. 
We  must  hope,  he  added. 

Whether  it  was  in  hope  or  fear  I  awaited  the  issue,  I 
scarcely  know.  I  dared  not  glance  beyond  the  passing 
hour;  dared  not  conjecture  what  the  end  would  be.  The 
past  was  dead ;  the  future  yet  unborn.  For  the  moment 
my  whole  being  was  concentrated  upon  the  conflict  be- 
tween life  and  death,  which  was  witnessed  only  by  the 
cure  and  Tardif. 

It  seemed  to  me  almost  as  if  time  had  been  standing 
still  since  that  first  morning  when  Monsieur  Laurentie 
had  left  my  side  and  passed  out  of  my  sight  to  seek  for 
my  husband  in  the  fever-smitten  dwelling.  Yet  it  was 
the  tenth  day  after  that  when,  as  I  took  up  my  weary 
watch  soon  after  day-break,  I  saw  him  crossing  the  court 
again,  and  coming  toward  me. 

What  had  he  to  say?  What  could  impel  him  to  break 
through  the  strict  rule  which  had  interdicted  all  danger- 
ous contact  with  himself?  His  face  was  pale,  and  his 
eyes  were  heavy  as  if  with  want  of  rest,  but  they  looked 
into  mine  as  if  they  could  read  my  inmost  soul. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  "  I  bade  you  leave  even  your 
duty  in  my  keeping.  Now  I  summon  you  to  fulfil  it. 
Your  duty  lies  yonder  by  your  husband's  side  in  his  agony 
of  death." 

"  I  will  go,"  I  whispered,  my  lips  scarcely  moving  to 
pronounce  the  words,  so  stiff  and  cold  they  felt. 

"Stay  one  moment,"  he  said,  pityingly.  "You  have 
been  taught  to  judge  of  your  duty  for  yourself,  not  to 
32 


49 8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

leave  it  to  a  priest.  I  ought  to  let  you  judge  now.  Your 
husband  is  dying,  but  he  is  conscious,  and  is  asking  to  see 
you.  He  does  not  believe  us  that  death  is  near;  he  says 
none  but  you  will  tell  him  the  truth.  You  cannot  go  to 
him  without  running  a  great  risk.  Your  danger  will  be 
greater  than  ours,  who  have  been  with  him  all  the  time. 
You  see,  madame,  he  does  not  understand  me,  and  he 
refuses  to  believe  in  Tardif.  Yet  you  cannot  save  him ; 
you  can  only  receive  his  last  adieu.  Think  well,  my  child. 
Your  life  may  be  the  forfeit." 

"  I  must  go,"  I  answered,  more  firmly;  "  I  will  go.  He 
is  my  husband." 

"  Good !  "  he  said,  "  you  have  chosen  the  better  part. 
Come,  then ;  the  good  God  will  protect  you." 

He  drew  my  hand  through  his  arm,  and  led  me  to  the 
low  doorway. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  499 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    LAST    DEATH. 

THE  inner  room  was  very  dark  with  the  overhanging 
eaves,  and  my  eyes,  dilated  by  the  strong  sunlight, 
could  discern  but  little  in  the  gloom.  Tardif  was  kneel- 
ing beside  a  low  bed,  bathing  my  husband's  forehead. 
He  made  way  for  me,  and  I  felt  him  touch  my  hand  with 
his  lips  as  I  took  his  place.  But  no  one  spoke.  Richard's 
face,  sunken,  haggard,  dying,  with  filmy  eyes,  dawned 
gradually  out  of  the  dim  twilight,  line  after  line,  until  it 
lay  sharp  and  distinct  under  my  gaze.  I  could  not  turn 
away  from  it  for  an  instant,  even  to  glance  at  Tardif  or 
Monsieur  Laurentie.  The  poor,  miserable  face!  the  rest- 
less, dreary,  dying  eyes! 

"Where  is  Olivia?"  he  muttered,  in  a  hoarse  and 
labored  voice. 

"  I  am  here,  Richard,"  I  answered,  falling  on  my  knees 
where  Tardif  had  been  kneeling,  and  putting  my  hand  on 
his;  look  at  me.     I  am  Olivia." 

"You  are  mine,  you  know,"  he  said,  his  fingers  closing 
round  my  wrist  with  a  grasp  as  weak  as  a  very  young 
child's;  "she  is  my  wife.  Monsieur  le  Cure." 

"  Yes,"  I  sobbed,  "  I  am  your  wife,  Richard." 

"  Do  they  hear  it?  "  he  asked,  in  a  whisper. 

"  We  hear  it,"  answered  Tardif. 

A  strange,  spasmodic  smile  flitted  across  his  ghastly 
face,  a  look  of  triumph  and  success.  His  fingers  tight- 
ened over  my  hand,  and  I  left  it  passively  in  their  clasp. 


5oo  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Mine !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  and  in  a  stronger 
voice,  "you  always  spoke  the  truth  to  me.  This  priest 
and  his  follower  have  been  trying  to  frighten  me  into  re- 
pentance, as  if  I  were  an  old  woman.  They  say  I  am 
near  dying.     Tell  me,  is  it  true?  " 

The  last  words  he  had  spoken  painfully,  dragging  them 
one  after  another,  as  if  the  very  utterance  of  them  was 
hateful  to  him.  He  looked  at  me  with  his  cold,  glittering 
eyes,  which  seemed  almost  mocking  at  me,  even  then. 

"  Richard,"  I  said,  "  it  is  true." 

"Good  God!"  he  cried. 
His  lips  closed  after  that  cry,  and  seemed  as  if  they 
would  never  open  again.  He  shut  his  eyes  weariedly. 
Feebly  and  fitfully  came  his  gasps  for  breath,  and  he 
moaned  at  times.  But  still  his  fingers  held  me  fast,  though 
the  slightest  effort  of  mine  would  have  set  me  free.  I  left 
my  hand  in  his  cold  grasp,  and  spoke  to  him  whenever  he 
moaned. 

"  Martin,"  he  breathed  between  his  set  teeth,  though  so 
low  that  only  my  ear  could  catch  the  words,  "  Martin — 
could — have  saved — me." 

There  was  another  long  silence.  I  could  hear  the 
chirping  of  the  sparrows  in  the  thatched  roof,  but  no  other 
sound  broke  upon  the  deep  stillness.  Monsieur  Laurentie 
and  Tardif  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  looking  down 
upon  us  both,  but  I  only  saw  their  shadows  falling  across 
us.  My  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  face  I  should  soon 
see  no  more.  The  little  light  there  was  seemed  to  be  fad- 
ing away  from  it,  leaving  it  all  dark  and  blank ;  eyelids 
closed,  lips  almost  breathless;  an  unutterable  emptiness 
and  confusion  creeping  over  every  feature. 

"Olivia!"  he  cried  once  again,  in  a  tone  of  mingled 
anger  and  entreaty. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


501 


"  I  am  here,"  I  answered,  laying  my  other  hand  upon 
his,  which  was  at  last  relaxing  its  hold  and  falling  away 
helplessly.  But  where  was  he?  Where  was  the  voice 
which  half  a  minute  ago  called  Olivia?  Where  was  the 
life  gone  that  had  grasped  my  hand?  He  had  not  heard 
my  answer,  or  felt  my  touch  upon  his  cold  fingers. 

Tardif  lifted  me  gently  from  my  place  beside  him  and 
carried  me  away  into  the  open  air,  under  the  overshadow- 
ing eaves. 


502  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

FREE. 

THE  rest  of  that  day  passed  by  like  a  dream.  Jean  had 
come  down  with  the  daily  supply  of  food,  and  I 
heard  Monsieur  Laurentie  call  to  him  to  accompany  me 
back  to  the  presbytery,  and  to  warn  every  one  to  keep 
away  from  me,  until  I  could  take  every  precaution  against 
spreading  infection.  He  gave  me  minute  directions  what 
to  do,  and  I  obeyed  them  automatically  and  mechanically. 
I  spent  the  whole  day  in  my  room  alone. 

At  night,  after  all  the  village  was  silent,  with  the  moon 
shining  brilliantly  down  upon  the  deserted  streets,  the 
sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  came  to  me  through  my  win- 
dow. I  pulled  the  casement  open,  and  looked  out.  There 
marched  four  men  with  measured  steps,  bearing  a  coffin 
on  their  shoulders,  while  Monsieur  Laurentie  followed 
them  bareheaded.  It  was  my  husband's  funeral ;  and  I 
sank  upon  my  knees,  and  remained  kneeling,  till  I  heard 
them  return  from  the  little  cemetery  up  the  valley,  where 
so  many  of  the  cure's  flock  had  been  buried.  I  prayed 
with  all  my  heart  that  no  other  life  would  be  forfeited  to 
this  pestilence,  which  had  seemed  to  have  passed  away 
from  us. 

But  I  was  worn  out  myself  with  anxiety  and  watching. 
For  three  or  four  days  I  was  ill  with  a  low,  nervous  fever 
— altogether  unlike  the  terrible  typhoid,  yet  such  as  to 
keep  me  to  my  room.     Minima  and  Mademoiselle  Therese 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  503 

were  my  only  companions.  Mademoiselle,  after  talking 
that  one  night  as  much  as  she  generally  talked  in  twelve 
months,  had  relapsed  into  deeper  taciturnity  than  before. 
But  her  muteness  tranquillized  me.  Minima's  simple  talk 
brought  me  back  to  the  level  of  common  life.  My  own 
nervous  weeping,  which  I  could  not  control,  served  to 
soothe  me.  My  casement,  amost  covered  by  broad,  clus- 
tering vine-leaves,  preserved  a  cool,  dim  obscurity  in  my 
room.  The  village  children  seemed  all  at  once  to  have 
forgotten  how  to  scream  and  shout,  and  no  sound  from 
the  street  disturbed  me.  Even  the  morning  and  evening 
bell  rang  with  a  deep,  muffled  tone,  which  scarcely  stirred 
the  silence.  I  heard  afterward  that  Jean  had  swathed  the 
bell  in  a  piece  of  sackcloth,  and  that  the  children  had 
been  sent  off  early  every  morning  into  the  woods. 

But  I  could  not  remain  long  in  that  idle  seclusion.  I 
felt  all  my  strength  returning,  both  of  body  and  mind.  I 
began  to  smile  at  Minima,  and  to  answer  her  childish 
prattle,  with  none  of  the  feeling  of  utter  weariness  which 
had  at  first  prostrated  me. 

"Are  we  going  to  stay  here  forever  and  ever?"  she 
asked  me  one  day,  when  I  felt  that  the  solitary  peace  of 
my  own  chamber  was  growing  too  monotonous  for  me. 

"  Should  you  like  to  stay,  Minima?  "  I  inquired  in  reply. 
It  was  a  question  I  must  face,  that  of  what  I  was  going 
to  do  in  the  future. 

"  I  don't  know  altogether,"  she  said  reflectively.  "  The 
boys  here  are  not  as  nice  as  they  used  to  be  at  home.  Pierre 
says  I'm  a  little  pagan,  and  that's  not  nice,  Aunt  Nelly. 
He  says  I  must  be  baptized  by  Monsieur  Laurentie,  and 
be  prepared  for  my  first  communion  before  I  can  be  as 
good  as  he  is.  The  boys  at  home  used  to  think  me  quite 
as  good  as  them,  and  better.  I  asked  Monsieur  Laurentie 
if  I  ought  to  be  baptized  over  again,  and  he  only  smiled, 


504  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

and  said  I  must  be  as  good  a  little  girl  as  I  could  be,  and  it 
did  not  much  matter.  But  Pierre  and  all  the  rest  think 
I'm  not  as  good  as  them,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  like  Monsieur  Laurentie,  at 
Minima's  distress.  Yet  it  was  not  without  foundation. 
Here  we  were  heretics  amid  the  orthodox,  and  I  felt  it 
myself.  Though  Monsieur  le  Cure  never  alluded  to  it  in 
the  most  distant  manner,  there  was  a  difference  between 
us  and  the  simple  village  folk  in  Ville-en-bois  which  would 
always  mark  us  as  strangers  in  blood  and  creed. 

"  I  think,"  continued  Minima,  with  a  shrewd  expression 
on  her  face,  which  was  beginning  to  fill  up  and  grow  round 
in  its  outlines,  "  I  think,  when  you  are  quite  well  again, 
we'd  better  be  going  on  somewhere  to  try  our  fortunes. 
It  never  does,  you  know,  to  stop  too  long  in  the  same 
place.  I'm  quite  sure  we  shall  never  meet  the  prince 
here,  and  I  don't  think  we  shall  find  any  treasure.  Be- 
sides, if  we  began  to  dig  they'd  all  know,  and  want  to  go 
shares.  I  shouldn't  mind  going  shares  with  Monsieur 
Laurentie,  but  I  would  not  go  shares  with  Pierre.  Of 
course,  when  we've  made  our  fortunes  we'll  come  back, 
and  we'll  build  Monsieur  Laurentie  a  palace  of  marble, 
and  put  Turkey  carpets  on  all  the  floors,  and  have  foun- 
tains and  statues,  and  all  sorts  of  things,  and  give  him  a 
cook  to  cook  splendid  dinners.  But  we  wouldn't  stay  here 
always  if  we  were  very,  very  rich;  would  you,  Aunt 
Nelly?  " 

"  Has  anybody  told  you  that  I  am  rich?  "  I  asked,  with 
a  passing  feeling  of  vexation. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  laughing  heartily,  "  I  should  know 
better  than  that.  You're  very  poor,  my  darling  auntie, 
but  I  love  you  all  the  same.  We  shall  be  rich  some  day, 
of  course.     It's  all  coming  right  by-and-by." 

Her  hand  was  stroking  my  face,  and  I  drew  it  to  my 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  505 

lips  and  kissed  it  tenderly.  I  had  scarcely  realized  before 
what  a  change  had  come  over  my  circumstances. 

"  But  I  am  not  poor  any  longer,  my  little  girl,''  I  said ; 
"  I  am  rich  now." 

"  Very  rich?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Very  rich,"  I  repeated. 

"  And  we  shall  never  have  to  go  walking,  walking,  till  our 
feet  are  sore  and  tired?  And  we  shall  not  be  hungry,  and 
be  afraid  of  spending  our  money?  And  we  shall  buy  new 
clothes  as  soon  as  the  old  ones  are  worn  out?  O  Aunt 
Nelly,  is  it  true?  is  it  quite  true?  " 

"  It  is  quite  true,  my  poor  Minima,"  I  answered. 

She  looked  at  me  wistfully,  with  the  color  coming  and 
going  on  her  face.  Then  she  climbed  up,  and  lay  down 
beside  me,  with  her  arm  over  me,  and  her  face  close  to 
mine. 

"O  Aunt  Nelly!"  she  cried,  "if  this  had  only  come 
while  my  father  was  alive !  " 

"  Minima,"  I  said,  after  her  sobs  and  tears  were  ended, 
"you  will  always  be  my  little  girl.  You  shall  come  and 
live  with  me  wherever  I  live." 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  with  the  simple  trustfulness 
of  a  child,  "  we  are  going  to  live  together  till  we  die.  You 
won't  send  me  to  school,  will  you?  You  know  what 
school  is  like  now,  and  you  wouldn't  like  me  to  send  you 
to  school,  would  you?  If  I  were  a  rich  grown-up  lady, 
and  you  were  a  little  girl  like  me,  I  know  what  I  should 
do." 

"What  would  you  do?"  I  inquired,  laughing. 

"  I  should  give  you  lots  of  dolls  and  things,"  she  said, 
quiet  seriously,  her  brows  puckered  with  anxiety,  "  and  I 
should  let  you  have  strawberry  jam  every  day,  and  I 
should  make  everything  as  nice  as  possible.  Of  course  I 
should  make  you  learn  lessons,  whether  you  liked  it  or 


506  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

not,  but  I  should  teach  you  myself,  and  then  I  should 
know  nobody  was  unkind  to  you.  That's  what  I  should 
do,  Aunt  Nelly." 

"  And  that's  what  I  shall  do,  Minimia,"  I  repeated. 

We  had  many  things  to  settle  that  morning,  making  our 
preliminary  arrangements  for  the  spending  of  my  fortune 
upon  many  dolls  and  much  jam.  But  the  conviction  was 
forced  upon  me  that  I  must  be  setting  about  more  im- 
portant plans.  Tardif  was  still  staying  in  Ville-en-bois, 
delaying  his  departure  till  I  was  well  enough  to  see  him. 
I  resolved  to  get  up  that  evening,  as  soon  as  the  heat  of 
the  day  was  past,  and  have  a  conversation  with  him  and 
Monsieur  Laurentie. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  507 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A    YEAR'S    NEWS. 

IN  the  cool  of  the  evening,  while  the  chanting  of  vespers 
in  the  church  close  by  was  faintly  audible,  I  went 
down-stairs  into  the  salon.  All  the  household  were  gone 
to  the  service ;  but  I  saw  Tardif  sitting  outside  in  my  own 
favorite  seat  under  the  sycamore  tree.  I  sent  Minima  to 
call  him  to  me,  bidding  her  stay  out  of  doors  herself ;  and 
he  came  in  hurriedly,  with  a  glad  light  in  his  deep,  hon- 
est eyes. 

"  Thank  God,  mam'zelle,  thank  God,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,''  I  answered,  "  I  am  well  again  now.  I  have 
not  been  really  ill,  I  know,  but  I  felt  weary  and  sick  at 
heart.     My  good  Tardif,  how  much  I  owe  you !  " 

"You  owe  me  nothing,  mam'zelle,"  he  said,  dropping 
my  hand,  and  carrying  the  cure's  high-backed  chair  to  the 
open  window  for  me  to  sit  in  it  and  have  all  the  fresh- 
ness there  was  in  the  air.  "  Dear  mam'zelle,"  he  added, 
"if  you  only  think  of  me  as  your  friend,  that  is  enough." 

"You  are  my  truest  friend,"  I  replied. 

"No,  no.  You  have  another  as  true,"  he  answered, 
"  and  you  have  this  good  Monsieur  le  Cure  into  the  bar- 
gain. If  the  cures  were  all  like  him  I  should  be  thinking 
of  becoming  a  good  Catholic  myself,  and  you  know  how 
far  I  am  from  being  that." 

"  No  one  can  say  a  word  too  much  in  his  praise,"  I 
said. 

"  Except,"  continued  Tardif,  "  that  he  desires  to  keep 


508  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

our  little  mam'zelle  in  his  village.  c  Why  must  she  leave 
me? '  he  says;  'never  do  T  say  a  word  contrary  to  her  re- 
ligion, or  that  of  the  mignonne.  Let  them  stay  in  Ville- 
en-bois.'  But  Dr.  Martin  says,  '  No,  she  must  not  remain 
here.  The  air  is  not  good  for  her;  the  village  is  not 
drained,  and  it  is  unhealthy.  There  will  always  be  fever 
here.'  Dr.  Martin  was  almost  angry  with  Monsieur  le  Cure." 

"  Dr.  Martin?  "  I  said,  in  a  tone  of  wonder  and  inquiry. 

"  Dr.  Martin,  mam'zelle.  I  sent  a  message  to  him  by 
telegraph.  It  was  altered  somehow  in  the  offices,  and  he 
did  not  know  who  was  dead.  He  started  off  at  once, 
travelled  without  stopping,  and  reached  this  place  two 
nights  ago.'1 

"Is  he  here  now?"  I  asked,  while  a  troubled  feeling 
stirred  the  tranquillity  which  had  just  returned  to  me. 
I  shrank  from  seeing  him  just  then. 

"  No,  mam'zelle.  He  went  away  this  morning,  as  soon 
as  he  was  sure  you  would  recover  without  his  help.  He 
said  that  to  see  him  might  do  you  more  harm,  trouble  you 
more  than  he  could  do  you  good  by  his  medicines.  He 
and  Monsieur  le  Cure  parted  good  friends,  though  they 
were  not  of  the  same  mind  about  you.  '  Let  her  stay 
here,'  says  Monsieur  le  Cure.  '  She  must  return  to  Eng- 
land,' says  Dr.  Martin.  '  Mam'zelle  must  be  free  to 
choose  for  herself,'  I  said.  They  both  smiled,  and  said 
yes,  I  was  right.     You  must  be  free." 

"Why  did  no  one  tell  me  he  was  here?  Why  did 
Minima  keep  it  secret?  "     I  asked. 

"  He  forbade  us  to  tell  you.  He  did  not  wish  to  dis- 
quiet you.  He  said  to  me,  '  If  she  ever  wishes  to  see  me, 
I  would  come  gladly  from  London  to  Ville-en-bois  only 
to  hear  her  say,  "Good-morning,  Dr.  Martin."  But  I  will 
not  see  her  now,  unless  she  is  seriously  ill.'  I  felt  that  he 
was  right.     Dr.  Martin  is  always  right." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  509 

I  did  not  speak  when  Tardif  paused,  as  if  to  hear  what 
I  had  to  say.  I  heard  him  sigh  as  softly  as  a  woman 
sighs. 

"  If  you  could  only  come  back  to  my  poor  little  house !  " 
he  said;  "but  that  is  impossible.  My  poor  mother  died 
in  the  spring,  and  I  am  living  alone.  It  is  desolate,  but  I 
am  not  unhappy.  I  have  my  boat  and  the  sea,  where  I 
am  never  solitary.  But  why  should  I  talk  of  myself? 
We  were  speaking  of  what  you  are  to  do.1' 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  I  said,  despondently;  "you 
see,  Tardif,  I  have  not  a  single  friend  I  could  go  to  in 
England.    I  shall  have  to  stay  here  in  Ville-en-bois." 

"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  Dr.  Martin  has  some  plan  for 
you,  I  know,  though  he  did  not  tell  me  what  it  is.  He 
said  you  would  have  a  home  offered  to  you,  such  as  you 
could  accept  gladly.     I  think  it  is  in  Guernsey." 

"With  his  mother,  perhaps,"  I  suggested. 

"His  mother,  mam'zelle!"  he  repeated;  "alas!  no. 
His  mother  is  dead ;  she  died  only  a  few  weeks  after  you 
left  Sark." 

I  felt  as  if  I  had  lost  a  friend  whom  I  had  known  a 
long  time,  though  I  had  only  seen  her  once.  In  my 
greatest  difficulty  I  had  thought  of  making  my  way  to  her 
and  telling  her  all  my  history.  I  did  not  know  what 
other  home  could  open  for  me  if  she  were  dead. 

"  Dr.  Dobree  married  a  second  wife  only  three  months 
after,"  pursued  Tardif,  "  and  Dr.  Martin  left  Guernsey  al- 
together, and  went  to  London  to  be  a  partner  with  his 
friend,  Dr.  Senior." 

"Dr.  John  Senior?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  mam'zelle,"  he  answered. 

"Why!  I  know  him,"  I  exclaimed;  "I  recollect  his 
face  well.  He  is  handsomer  than  Dr.  Martin.  But  whom 
did  Dr.  Dobree  marry?" 


510  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

w  I  do  not  know  whether  he  is  handsomer  than  Dr. 
Martin,"  said  Tardif,  in  a  grieved  tone.  "  Whom  did  Dr. 
Dobree  marry?  Oh!  a  foreigner.  No  Guernsey  lady 
would  have  married  him  so  soon  after  Mrs.  Dobree's 
death.  She  was  a  great  friend  of  Miss  Julia  Dobree. 
Her  name  was  Daltrey." 

"Kate  Daltrey!"  I  ejaculated.  My  brain  seemed  to 
whirl  with  the  recollections,  the  associations,  the  rapid 
mingling  and  forced  readjustment  of  ideas  forced  upon 
me  by  Tardif's  words.  What  would  have  become  of  me, 
if  I  had  found  my  way  to  Guernsey,  seeking  Mrs.  Dobree, 
and  discovered  in  her  Kate  Daltrey?  I  had  not  time  to 
realize  this  before  Tardif  went  on  with  his  narration. 

"Dr.  Martin  was  heart-broken,"  he  said;  "  we  had  lost 
you,  and  his  mother  was  dead.  He  had  no  one  to  turn 
to  for  comfort.  His  cousin  Julia,  who  was  to  have  been 
his  wife,  was  married  to  Captain  Carey  three  weeks  ago. 
You  recollect  Captain  Carey,  mam'zelle?" 

Here  was  more  news  and  a  fresh  readjustment  of  the 
persons  who  peopled  my  world.  Kate  Daltrey  become 
Dr.  Dobree's  second  wife ;  Julia  Dobree  married  to  Cap- 
tain Carey ;  and  Dr.  Martin  living  in  London,  the  partner 
of  Dr.  Senior !  How  could  I  put  them  all  into  their  places 
in  a  moment?  Tardif,  too,  was  dwelling  alone  now,  soli- 
tary, in  a  very  solitary  place. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  I  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Why,  mam'zelle?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  you  have  lost  your  mother,"  I  answered. 

"Yes,  mam'zelle,"  he  said,  simply;  "she  was  a  great 
loss  to  me,  though  she  was  always  fretting  about  my  in- 
heriting the  land.  That  is  the  law  of  the  island,  and  no 
one  can  set  it  aside.  The  eldest  son  inherits  the  land, 
and  I  was  not  her  own  son,  though  I  did  my  best  to  be 
like  a  real  son  to  her.     She  died  happier  in  thinking  that 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  511 

her  son  or  grandson  would  follow  me  when  I  am  gone, 
and  I  was  glad  she  had  that  to  comfort  her,  poor  woman." 

"  But  you  may  marry  again  some  day,  my  good  Tardif," 
I  said;  "how  I  wish  you  would!  " 

"  No,  manr  zelle,  no,"  he  answered,  with  a  strange 
quivering  tone  in  his  voice ;  "  my  mother  knew  why  be- 
fore she  died,  and  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  her.  Do  not 
think  I  am  not  happy  alone.  There  are  some  memories 
that  are  better  company  than  most  folks.  Yes,  there  are 
some  things  I  can  think  of  that  are  more  and  better  than 
any  wife  could  be  to  me." 

Why  we  were  both  silent  after  that  I  scarcely  knew. 
Both  of  us  had  many  things  to  think  about,  no  doubt,  and 
the  ideas  were  tumbling  over  one  another  in  my  poor 
brain  till  I  wished  I  could  cease  to  think  for  a  few  hours. 

Vespers  ended,  and  the  villagers  began  to  disperse 
stealthily.  Not  a  wooden  sabot  clattered  on  the  stones. 
Mademoiselle  and  Monsieur  Laurentie  came  in,  with  a 
tread  as  soft  as  if  they  were  afraid  of  waking  a  child  out 
of  a  light  slumber. 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  cried,  "Monsieur,  behold  me;  I  am 
here." 

My  voice  and  my  greeting  seemed  to  transport  them 
with  delight.  Mademoiselle  embraced  me  and  kissed  me 
on  both  cheeks.  Monsieur  le  Cure  blessed  me  in  a 
tremulously  joyous  accent,  and  insisted  upon  my  keeping 
his  arm-chair.  We  sat  down  to  supper  together  by  the 
light  of  a  brilliant  little  lamp,  and  Pierre,  who  was  passing 
the  uncurtained  window,  saw  me  there,  and  carried  the 
news  into  the  village. 

The  next  day  Tardif  bade  me  farewell,  and  Monsieur 
Laurentie  drove  him  to  Granville  on  his  way  home  to 
Sark. 


5T2  THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

FAREWELL    TO    VILLE-EN-BOIS. 

THE  unbroken  monotony  of  Ville-en-bois  closed  over 
me  again.  The  tolling  of  the  morning  bell;  the 
hum  of  matins ;  the  frugal  breakfast  in  the  sunlit  salon ; 
the  long,  hot  day;  vespers  again;  then  an  hour's  chat  by 
twilight  with  the  drowsy  cure"  and  his  sister,  whose  words 
were  so  rare.  Before  six  such  days  had  passed  by,  I  felt 
as  if  they  were  to  last  my  lifetime.  Then  the  fretting  of 
my  uneasy  woman's  heart  began.  There  was  no  sign 
that  I  had  any  friends  in  England.  What  ought  I  to  do? 
How  must  I  set  about  the  intricate  business  of  my  affairs? 
Must  I  write  to  my  trustees  in  Melbourne,  giving  them 
the  information  of  my  husband's  death,  and  wait  till  I 
could  receive  from  them  instructions  and  credentials  to 
prove  my  identity,  without  which  it  was  useless,  if  it  were 
practicable,  to  return  to  London?  Was  there  ever  one  as 
friendless  as  I  was?  Monsieur  Laurentie  could  give  me 
no  counsel,  except  to  keep  myself  tranquil ;  but  how  diffi- 
cult it  was  to  keep  tranquil  amid  such  profound  repose! 
I  had'often  found  it  easier  to  be  calm  amid  many  provo- 
cations and  numerous  difficulties. 

A  week  has  glided  by — a  full  week.  The  letter-carrier 
has  brought  me  no  letter.  I  am  seated  at  the  window  of 
the  salon,  gasping  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air  in  these  sim- 
mering dog-days — such  a  cool,  balmy  breeze  as  blows  over 
the  summer  sea  to  the  cliffs  of  Sark.  Monsieur  Laurentie, 
under  the  shelter  of  a  huge  red  umbrella,  is  choosing  the 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  5^ 

ripest  cluster  of  grapes  for  our  supper  this  evening.  All 
the  street  is  as  still  as  at  midnight.  Suddenly  there  breaks 
upon  us  the  harsh,  metallic  clang  of  well-shod  horse-hoofs 
upon  the  stony  road-way — the  cracking  of  a  postillion's 
whip — the  clatter  of  an  approaching  carriage. 

It  proves  to  be  a  carriage  with  a  pair  of  horses. 

Pierre,  who  has  been  basking  idly  under  the  window, 
jumps  to  his  feet,  shouting,  "It  is  Monsieur  the  Bishop!  " 

Minima  claps  her  hands  and  cries,  "  The  Prince,  Aunt 
Nelly,  the  Prince!  " 

Monsieur  Laurentie  walks  slowly  down  to  the  gate,  his 
cotton  umbrella  spread  over  him  like  a  giant  fungus.  It 
is  certainly  not  the  Prince;  for  an  elderly,  white-haired 
man,  older  than  Monsieur  Laurentie,  but  with  a  more  im- 
posing and  stately  presence,  steps  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
they  salute  one  another  with  great  ceremony.  If  that  be 
Monsieur  the  Bishop,  he  has  very  much  the  air  of  an  Eng- 
lishman. 

In  a  few  minutes  my  doubt  as  to  the  Bishop's  nationality 
was  solved.  The  two  white-haired  men,  the  one  in  a 
glossy  and  handsome  suit  of  black,  the  other  in  his  brown 
and  worn-out  cassock,  came  up  the  path  together  under 
the  red  umbrella.  They  entered  the  house  and  came  di- 
rectly to  the  salon.  I  was  making  my  escape  by  another 
door,  not  being  sure  how  I  ought  to  encounter  a  bishop, 
when  Monsieur  Laurentie  called  to  me. 

"  Behold  a  friend  for  you,  madame,"  he  said ;  "  a  friend 
from  England.  Monsieur,  this  is  my  beloved  English 
child." 

I  turned  back,  and  met  the  eyes  of  both  fixed  upon 
me  with  that  peculiar  half-tender,  half-regretful  expression, 
with  which  so  many  old  men  look  upon  women  as  young  as 
I.  A  smile  came  across  my  face,  and  I  held  out  my  hand 
involuntarily  to  the  stranger. 
33 


514  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  You  do  not  know  who  I  am,  my  dear?  "  he  said.  The 
English  voice  and  words  went  straight  to  my  heart.  How 
many  months  it  was  since  I  had  heard  my  own  language 
spoken  thus.  Tardif  had  been  too  glad  to  speak  in  his 
own  patois,  now  I  understood  it  so  well;  and  Minima's 
prattle  had  not  sounded  to  me  like  those  few  syllables  in 
the  deep,  cultivated  voice  which  uttered  them. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  but  you  are  come  to  me  from  Dr. 
Dobree." 

"  Very  true,"  he  said.  "  I  am  his  friend's  father — Dr. 
John  Senior's  father.  Martin  has  sent  me  to  you.  He 
wished  Miss  Johanna  Carey  to  accompany  me,  but  we 
were  afraid  of  the  fever  for  her.  I  am  an  old  physician 
and  feel  at  home  with  disease  and  contagion.  But  we 
cannot  allow  you  to  remain  in  this  unhealthy  village; 
that  is  out  of  the  question.  I  am  come  to  carry  you  away, 
in  spite  of  this  old  cure." 

Monsieur  Laurentie  was  listening  eagerly  and  watching 
Dr.  Senior's  lips,  as  if  he  could  catch  the  meaning  of  his 
words  by  sight,  if  not  by  hearing. 

"  But  where  am  I  to  go?  "  I  asked.  "  I  have  no  money, 
and  cannot  get  any  until  I  have  written  to  Melbourne  and 
have  an  answer.  I  have  no  means  of  proving  who  I 
am." 

"  Leave  all  that  to  us,  my  dear  girl,"  answered  Dr. 
Senior,  cordially.  "  I  have  already  spoken  of  your  affairs 
to  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  is  an  excellent  lawyer.  I 
am  come  to  offer  myself  to  you  in  place  of  your  guardians 
on  the  other  side  of  the  world.  You  will  do  me  a  very 
great  favor  by  frankly  accepting  a  home  in  my  house  for 
the  present.  I  have  neither  wife  nor  daughter;  but  Miss 
Carey  is  already  there,  preparing  rooms  for  you  and  your 
little  charge.  We  have  made  inquiries  about  the  little 
girl,  and  find  she  has  no  friends  living.     I  will  take  care 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


5*5 


of  her  future.  Do  you  think  you  could  trust  yourself  and 
her  to  me?  " 

''Oh,  yes!1'  I  replied,  but  I  moved  a  little  nearer  to 
Monsieur  Laurentie,  and  put  my  hand  through  his  arm. 
He  folded  his  own  thin,  brown  fingers  over  it  caressingly, 
and  looked  down  at  me  with  something  like  tears  glisten- 
ing in  his  eyes. 

"  Is  it  all  settled?  "  he  asked,  "  is  monsieur  come  to  rob 
me  of  my  English  daughter?  She  will  go  away  now  to 
her  own  island  and  forget  Ville-en-bois  and  her  poor  old 
French  father! " 

"  Never!  never!  "  I  answered  vehemently,  "  I  shall  not 
forget  you  as  long  as  I  live.  Besides,  I  mean  to  come 
back  very  often;  every  year  if  I  can.  I  almost  wish  I 
could  stay  here  altogether;  but  you  know  that  is  impossi- 
ble, monsieur.     Is  it  not  quite  impossible?  " 

"Quite  impossible!"  he  repeated,  somewhat  sadly, 
"madame  is  too  rich  now;  she  will  have  many  good 
friends." 

"  Not  one  better  than  you,"  I  said,  "not  one  more  dear 
than  you.  Yes,  I  am  rich;  and  I  have  been  planning 
something  to  do  for  Ville-en-bois.  Would  you  like  the 
church  enlarged  and  beautified,  Monsieur  le  Cure?" 

"  It  is  large  enough  and  fine  enough  already,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Shall  I  put  some  painted  windows  and  marble  images 
into  it?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  no,  madame,"  he  replied,  "let  it  remain  as  it  is 
during  my  short  lifetime." 

"  I  thought  so,"  I  said,  "  but  I  believe  I  have  dis- 
covered what  Monsieur  le  Cure  would  approve.  It  is 
truly  English.  There  is  no  sentiment  nor  romance  about 
it.  Cannot  you  guess  what  it  is,  my  wise  and  learned 
monsieur?  " 


516  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  No,  no,  madame,"  he  answered,  smiling  in  spite  of  his 
sadness. 

"  Listen,  dear  monsieur,1'  I  continued.  "  If  this  village 
is  unhealthy  for  me,  it  is  unhealthy  for  you  and  your 
people.  Dr.  Martin  told  Tardif  there  would  always  be 
fever  here  as  long  as  there  are  no  drains  and  no  pure 
water.  Very  well ;  now  I  am  rich  I  shall  have  it  drained 
precisely  like  the  best  English  town;  and  there  shall  be  a 
fountain  in  the  middle  of  the  village,  where  all  the  people 
can  go  to  draw  good  water.  I  shall  come  back  next  year 
to  see  how  it  has  been  done.  Voila,  monsieur!  There 
is  my  secret  plan  for  Ville-en-bois." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  effectual  for  turning 
away  Monsieur  Laurentie's  thoughts  from  the  mournful 
topic  of  our  near  separation.  After  vespers  and  before 
supper,  he,  Dr.  Senior,  and  I  made  the  tour  of  Ville-en- 
bois,  investigating  the  close,  dark  cottages,  and  discussing 
plans  for  rendering  them  more  wholesome.  The  next 
day,  and  the  day  following,  the  same  subject  continued  to 
occupy  him  and  Dr.  Senior ;  and  thus  the  pain  of  our  de- 
parture was  counterbalanced  by  his  pleasure  in  anticipat- 
ing the  advantages  to  be  obtained  by  a  thorough  drainage 
of  his  village,  and  more  ventilation  and  light  in  the  dwell- 
ings. 

The  evening  before  we  were  to  set  out  on  our  return  to 
England,  while  the  whole  population,  including  Dr. 
Senior,  were  assisting  at  vespers,  I  turned  my  feet  toward 
the  little  cemetery  on  the  hill-side,  which  I  had  never  yet 
visited.  The  sun  had  sunk  below  the  tops  of  the  pollard- 
trees,  which  grew  along  the  brow  of  the  hill  in  grotesque 
and  fantastic  shapes;  but  a  few  stray  beams  glimmered 
through  the  branches,  and  fell  here  and  there  in  spots  of 
dancing  light.  The  small  square  inclosure  was  crowded 
with   little  hillocks,  at  the  head  of  which  stood   simple 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


5*7 


crosses  of  wood— crosses  so  light  and  little  as  to  seem  sig- 
nificant emblems  of  the  difference  between  our  sorrows 
and  those  borne  for  our  sakes  upon  Calvary.  Wreaths  of 
immortelles  hung  upon  most  of  them.  Below  me  lay  the 
valley  and  the  homes  where  the  dead  at  my  feet  had  lived; 
the  sunshine  lingered  yet  about  the  spire,  with  its  cross 
which  towered  above  the  belfry;  but  all  else  was  in 
shadow,  which  was  slowly  deepening  into  night.  In  the 
west  the  sky  was  flushing  and  throbbing  with  transparent 
tints  of  amber  and  purple  and  green,  with  flecks  of  cloud 
floating  across  it  of  a  pale  gold.  Eastward  it  was  still 
blue,  but  fading  into  a  faint  gray.  The  dusky  green  of 
the  cypresses  looked  black,  as  I  turned  my  splendor- 
dazzled  eyes  toward  them. 

I  strolled  to  and  fro  among  the  grassy  mounds,  not 
consciously  seeking  one  of  them ;  though,  very  deep  down 
in  my  inmost  spirit,  there  must  have  been  an  impulse 
which  unwittingly  directed  me.  I  did  not  stay  my  feet, 
or  turn  away  from  the  village  burial-place,  until  I  came 
upon  a  grave,  the  latest  made  among  them.  It  was  soli- 
tary, unmarked ;  with  no  cross  to  throw  its  shadow  along 
it,  as  the  sun  was  setting.  I  knew  then  that  I  had  come 
to  seek  it,  to  bid  farewell  to  it,  to  leave  it  behind  me  for 
evermore. 

The  next  morning  Monsieur  Laurentie  accompanied 
us  on  our  journey  as  far  as  the  cross  at  the  entrance  to 
the  valley.  He  parted  with  us  there,  and  when  I  stood 
up  in  the  carriage  to  look  back  once  more  at  him,  I  saw 
his  black-robed  figure  kneeling  on  the  white  steps  of  the 
Calvary,  and  the  sun  shining  upon  his  silvery  head. 


5i8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

TOO    HIGHLY    CIVILIZED. 

FOR  the  third  time  I  landed  in  England.  When 
I  set  foot  upon  its  shores  first  I  was  worse  than 
friendless,  with  foes  of  my  own  household  surrounding 
me ;  the  second  time  I  was  utterly  alone,  in  daily  terror, 
in  poverty,  with  a  dreary  life-long  future  stretching  before 
me.  Now  every  want  of  mine  was  anticipated,  every  step 
directed,  as  if  I  were  a  child  again,  and  my  father  himself 
was  caring  for  me.  How  many  friends,  good  and  tried 
and  true,  could  I  count!  All  the  rough  paths  were  made 
smooth  for  me. 

It  was  dusk  before  we  reached  London ;  but  before  the 
train  stopped  at  the  platform,  a  man's  hand  was  laid  upon 
the  carriage-door,  and  a  handsome  face  was  smiling  over  it 
upon  us.  I  scarcely  dared  look  who  it  was,  but  the  voice 
that  reached  my  ears  was  not  Martin  Dobree's. 

"  I  am  here  in  Martin's  place,"  said  Dr.  John  Senior,  as 
soon  as  he  could  make  himself  heard.  "  He  has  been  hin- 
dered by  a  wretch  of  a  patient.  Welcome  home,  Miss 
Martineau." 

"She  is  not  Miss  Martineau,  John,"  remarked  Dr. 
Senior.  There  was  a  tinge  of  stateliness  about  him 
bordering  upon  formality,  which  had  kept  me  a  little  in 
awe  of  him  all  the  journey  through.  His  son  laughed, 
with  a  pleasant  audacity. 

"Welcome  home,  Olivia,  then!"  he  said,  clasping  my 
hand  warmly.  "  Martin  and  I  never  called  you  by  any  other 
name." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


5*9 


A  carriage  was  waiting  for  us,  and  Dr.  John  took 
Minima  beside  him,  chattering,  with  her  as  the  child  loved 
to  chatter.  As  for  me,  I  felt  a  little  anxious  and  uneasy. 
Once  more  I  was  about  to  enter  upon  an  entirely  new 
life — upon  the  untried  ways  of  a  wealthy,  conventional, 
punctilious  English  household.  Hitherto  my  mode  of  life 
had  been  almost  as  wandering  and  free  as  that  of  a  gipsy. 
Even  at  home,  during  my  pleasant  childhood,  our  customs 
had  been  those  of  an  Australian  sheep-farm,  exempt  from 
all  usages  of  anything  like  fashion.  Dr.  John's  kid  gloves, 
which  fitted  his  hand  to  perfection,  made  me  uncomfort- 
able. 

I  felt  still  more  abashed  and  oppressed  when  we 
reached  Dr.  Senior's  house,  and  a  footman  ran  down  to 
the  carriage  to  open  the  door  and  to  carry  in  my  poor 
little  portmanteau.  It  looked  so  miserably  poor  and  out 
of  place  in  the  large,  brilliantly  lit  hall.  Minima  kept 
close  beside  me,  silent,  but  gazing  upon  this  new  abode 
with  wide-open  eyes. 

Why  was  not  Martin  here?  He  had  known  me  in  Sark, 
in  Tardif's  cottage,  and  he  would  understand  how  strange 
and  how  unlike  home  all  this  was  to  me. 

A  trim  maid  was  summoned  to  show  us  to  our  rooms, 
and  she  eyed  us  with  silent  criticism.  She  conducted 
us  to  a  large  and  lofty  apartment,  daintily  and  luxuriously 
fitted  up,  with  a  hundred  knick-knacks  about  it  of  which 
I  could  not  even  guess  the  use.  A  smaller  room  commu- 
nicated with  it  which  had  been  evidently  furnished  for 
Minima.  The  child  squeezed  my  hand  tightly  as  we 
gazed  into  it.  I  felt  as  if  we  were  gipsies,  suddenly  caught, 
and  caged  in  a  splendid  captivity. 

"Isn't  it  awful?"  asked  Minima,  in  a  whisper;  "it 
frightens  me." 

It  almost  frightened  me  too.     I  was  disconcerted  also 


520  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

by  my  own  reflection  in  the  long  mirror  before  me.  A 
rustic,  homely  peasant-girl,  with  a  brown  face  and  rough 
hands,  looked  back  at  me  from  the  shining  surface,  wear- 
ing a  half-Norman  dress,  for  I  had  not  had  time  to  buy 
more  than  a  bonnet  and  shawl  as  we  passed  through 
Falaise.  What  would  Miss  Carey  think  of  me?  How 
should  I  look  in  Dr.  John's  fastidious  eyes?  Would  not 
Martin  be  disappointed  and  shocked  when  he  saw  me 
again? 

I  could  not  make  any  change  in  my  costume,  and  the 
maid  carried  of!  Minima  to  do  what  she  could  with  her. 
There  came  a  gentle  knock  at  my  door,  and  Miss  Carey 
entered.  Here  was  the  fitting  personage  to  dwell  in  a 
house  like  this.  A  delicate  gray  silk  dress,  a  dainty  lace 
cap,  a  perfect  self-possession,  a  dignified  presence.  My 
heart  sank  low.  But  she  kissed  me  affectionately  and 
smiled  as  I  looked  anxiously  into  her  face. 

"  My  dear,1'  she  said,  "I  hope  you  will  like  your  room. 
John  and  Martin  have  ransacked  London  for  pretty 
things  for  it.  See,  there  is  a  painting  of  Tardif's  cottage 
in  Sark.  Julia  has  painted  it  for  you.  And  here  is  a 
portrait  of  my  dear  friend,  Martin's  mother;  he  hung  it 
there  himself  only  this  morning.  I  hope  you  will  soon 
feel  quite  at  home  with  us,  Olivia." 

Before  I  could  answer,  a  gong  sminded  through  the 
house  with  a  sudden  clang  that  startled  me. 

We  went  down  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Dr.  Senior 
gave  me  his  arm,  and  led  me  ceremoniously  to  dinner. 
At  this  very  hour  my  dear  Monsieur  Laurentie  and  made- 
moiselle were  taking  their  simple  supper  at  the  little  round 
table,  white  as  wood  could  be  made  by  scrubbing,  but 
with  no  cloth  upon  it.  My  chair  and  Minima's  would  be 
standing  back  against  the  wall.  The  tears  smarted  under 
my  eyelids,  and  I  answered  at  random  to  the  remarks 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  521 

made  to  me.  How  I  longed  to  be  alone  for  a  little  while, 
until  I  could  realize  all  the  changes  that  had  come  into  my 
life! 

We  had  been  in  the  drawing-room  again  only  a  few 
mmutes,  when  we  heard  the  hall-door  opened,  and  a  voice 
speaking.  By  common  consent,  as  it  were,  every  one  fell 
into  silence  to  listen.  I  looked  up  for  a  moment,  and 
saw  that  all  three  of  them  had  turned  their  eyes  upon  me — 
friendly  eyes  they  were,  but  their  scrutiny  was  intolerable. 
Dr.  Senior  began  to  talk  busily  with  Miss  Carey. 

"  Hush !  "  cried  Minima,  who  was  standing  beside  Dr. 
John,  "hush!  I  believe  it  is — yes,  I  am  sure  it  is  Dr. 
Martin!" 


522  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    MEETING. 

MINIMA  sprang  to  the  door  just  as  it  was  opened,  and 
flung  her  arms  round  him  in  a  transport  of  delight. 
I  did  not  dare  to  lift  my  eyes  again,  to  see  them  all  smiling 
at  me.  He  could  not  come  at  once  to  speak  to  me,  while 
that  child  was  clinging  to  him  and  kissing  him. 

"I'm  so  glad,"  she  said,  almost  sobbing;  "come  and 
see  my  auntie,  who  was  so  ill  when  you  were  in  Ville-en- 
bois.  You  did  not  see  her,  you  know;  but  she  is  quite 
well  now,  and  very,  very  rich.  We  are  never  going  to  be 
poor  again.  Come;  she  is  here.  Auntie,  this  is  that  nice 
Dr.  Martin,  who  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  you  he  was 
at  Ville-en-bois,  while  you  were  so  ill." 

She  dragged  him  eagerly  toward  me,  and  I  put  my  hand 
in  his,  but  I  did  not  look  at  him.  That  I  did  some  min- 
utes afterward,  when  he  was  talking  to  Miss  Carey.  It 
was  many  months  since  I  had  seen  him  last  in  Sark. 
There  was  a  great  change  in  his  face,  and  he  looked  sev- 
eral years  older.  It  was  grave,  and  almost  mournful,  as  if 
he  did  not  smile  very  often,  and  his  voice  was  lower  in 
tone  than  it  had  been  then.  Dr.  John,  who  was  standing 
beside  him,  was  certainly  much  gayer  and  handsomer  than 
he  was.  He  caught  my  eye,  and  came  back  to  me,  sit- 
ting near  enough  to  talk  with  me  in  an  undertone. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  the  arrangements  we  have 
made  for  you?  "  he  inquired. 

"Quite,1'  I  said,  not  daring  either  to  thank  him,  or  to 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


523 


tell  him  how  oppressed  I  was  by  my  sudden  change. 
Both  of  us  spoke  as  quietly  and  with  as  much  outward 
calm,  as  if  we  were  in  the  habit  of  seeing  each  other  every 
day.     A  chill  came  across  me. 

"  At  one  time,"  he  continued,  "  I  asked  Johanna  to  open 
her  home  to  you ;  but  that  was  when  I  thought  you  would 
be  safer  and  happier  in  a  quiet  place  like  hers  than  any- 
where else.  Now  you  are  your  own  mistress,  and  can 
choose  your  own  residence.  But  you  could  not  have  a 
better  home  than  this.  It  would  not  be  well  for  you,  so 
young  and  friendless,  to  live  in  a  house  of  your  own." 

"  No,"  I  said,  somewhat  sadly. 

"  Dr.  Senior  is  delighted  to  have  you  here,"  he  went  on ; 
"  you  will  see  very  good  society  in  this  house,  and  that  is 
what  you  should  do.  You  ought  to  see  more  and  better 
people  than  you  have  yet  known.  Does  it  seem  strange 
to  you  that  we  have  assumed  a  sort  of  authority  over  you 
and  your  affairs?  You  do  not  yet  know  how  we  have 
been  involved  in  them." 

"  How?  "  I  asked,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  grow- 
ing curiosity. 

"  Olivia,"  he  said,  "  Foster  was  my  patient  for  some 
months,  and  I  knew  all  his  affairs  intimately.  He  had 
married  that  person " 

"  Married  her!  ";  I  ejacula'ed. 

"  Yes.  You  want  to  know  how  he  could  do  that?  Well, 
he  produced  two  papers,  one  a  medical  certificate  of  your 
death,  the  other  a  letter  purporting  to  be  from  some 
clergyman.  He  had,  too,  a  few  lines  in  your  own  hand- 
writing, which  stated  you  had  sent  him  your  ring,  the  only 
valuable  thing  left  to  you,  as  you  had  sufficient  for  your 
last  necessities.  Even  I  believed  for  a  few  hours  that  you 
were  dead.  But  I  must  tell  you  all  about  it  another 
time." 


524  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

"  Did  he  believe  it?"  I  asked,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  answered;  "I  cannot  tell  even 
now  whether  he  knew  them  to  be  forgeries  or  not.  But 
I  have  no  doubt,  myself,  that  they  were  forged  by  Mrs. 
Foster's  brother  and  his  partner,  Scott  and  Brown." 

"  But  for  what  reason?  "   I  asked  again, 

"  What  reason !  "  he  repeated ;  "  you  were  too  rich  a 
prize  for  them  to  allow  Foster  to  risk  losing  any  part  of 
his  claim  upon  you,  if  he  found  you.  You  and  all  you 
had  were  his  property  on  certain  defined  conditions.  You 
do  not  understand  our  marriage  laws ;  it  is  as  well  for  you 
not  to  understand  them.  Mrs.  Foster  gave  up  to  me  to- 
day all  his  papers,  and  the  letters  and  credentials  from 
your  trustees  in  Melbourne  to  your  bankers  here.  There 
will  be  very  little  trouble  for  you  now.  Thank  God !  all 
your  life  lies  clear  and  fa'ir  before  you." 

I  had  still  many  questions  to  ask,  but  my  lips  trembled 
so  much  that  I  could  not  speak  readily.  He  was  himself 
silent,  probably  because  he  also  had  so  much  to  say.  All 
the  others  were  sitting  a  little  apart  from  us  at  a  chess- 
table,  where  Dr.  Senior  and  Miss  Carey  were  playing, 
while  Dr.  John  sat  near  by,  holding  Minima  in  his  arm, 
though  she  was  gazing  wistfully  across  to  Martin  and  me. 

"  You  are  tired,  Olivia,"  said  Martin,  after  a  time, 
"  tired  and  sad.  Your  eyes  are  full  of  tears.  I  must  be 
your  doctor  again  for  this  evening  and  send  you  to  bed 
at  once.  It  is  eleven  o'clock  already;  but  these  people 
will  sit  up  till  after  midnight.  You  need  not  say  good- 
night to  them.     Minima,  come  here." 

She  did  not  wait  for  a  second  word,  or  a  louder  sum- 
mons ;  but  she  slipped  under  Dr.  John's  arm,  and  rushed 
across  to  us,  being  caught  by  Martin  before  she  could 
throw  herself  upon  me.  He  sat  still  talking  with  her  for 
a  few  minutes  and  listening  to  her  account  of  our  jour- 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  525 

ney,  and  how  frightened  we  were  at  the  grandeur  about 
us.  His  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  me, 
as  if  for  the  first  time  he  noticed  how  out  of  keeping  I  was 
with  the  place.  Then  he  led  us  quietly  away,  and  up- 
stairs to  my  bed-room  door. 

"Good-night,  Olivia,"  he  said;  "sleep  soundly,  both 
of  you,  for  you  are  at  home.  I  will  send  one  of  the 
maids  up  to  you." 

"No,  no,"  I  cried  hastily;  "they  despise  us  already." 
"  Ah !  "  he  said,  "  to-night  you  are  the  Olivia  I  knew 
first  in  Sark.    In  a  week's  time  I  shall  find  you  a  fine  lady." 


526  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

SEEING    SOCIETY. 

WHETHER  or  no  I  was  transformed  into  a  finer  lady 
than  Martin  anticipated,  I  could  not  tell,  but  cer- 
tainly after  that  first  evening  he  held  himself  aloof  from 
me.  I  soon  learned  to  laugh  at  the  dismay  which  had 
filled  me  upon  my  entrance  into  my  new  sphere.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  to  resist  the  cordiality  with 
which  I  was  adopted  into  the  household.  Dr.  Senior 
treated  me  as  his  daughter;  Dr.  John  was  as  much  at 
home  with  me  as  if  I  had  been  his  sister.  We  often  rode 
together,  for  I  was  always  fond  of  riding  as  a  child,  and 
he  was  a  thorough  horseman.  He  said  Martin  could  ride 
better  than  himself;  but  Martin  never  asked  me  to  go  out 
with  him. 

Minima,  too,  became  perfectly  reconciled  to  her  new 
position,  though  for  a  time  she  was  anxious  lest  we  were 
spending  our  riches  too  lavishly.  I  heard  her  one  day 
soundly  rating  Dr.  John,  who  seldom  came  to  his  father's 
house  without  bringing  some  trinket,  or  bouquet,  or  toy 
for  one  or  other  of  us. 

"  You  are  wasting  all  your  money,"  she  said,  with  that 
anxious  little  pucker  of  her  eyebrows,  which  was  gradu- 
ally being  smoothed  away  altogether,  "you're  just  like  the 
boys  after  the  holidays.  They  would  buy  lots  of  things 
every  time  the  cake  woman  came;  and  she  came  every 
day,  till  they'd  spent  all  their  money.  You  can't  always 
have  cakes,  you  know,  and  then  you'll  miss  them." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  527 

"  But  I  shall  have  cakes  always,"  answered  Dr.  John. 

"  Nobody  has  them  always,"  she  said,  in  an  authoritative 
tone,  "and  you  won't  like  being  poor.  We  were  so  poor 
we  daren't  buy  as  much  as  we  could  eat,  and  our  boots 
wore  out  at  the  toes.  You  like  to  have  nice  boots,  and 
gloves,  and  things,  so  you  must  learn  to  take  care  of  your 
money  and  not  waste  it  like  this." 

"  I'm  not  wasting  my  money,  little  woman,"  he  replied, 
"when  I  buy  pretty  things  for  you  and  Olivia." 

"  Why  doesn't  Dr.  Martin  do  it,  then?  "  she  asked  ;  "  he 
never  spends  his  money  in  that  sort  of  way.  Why  doesn't 
he  give  auntie  as  many  things  as  you  do?  " 

Martin  had  been  listening  to  Minima's  rebukes  with  a 
smile  upon  his  face,  but  now  it  clouded  a  little,  and  I 
knew  he  glanced  across  to  me.  I  appeared  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  the  book  I  held  in  my  hand,  and  he  did  not  see 
that  I  was  listening  and  watching  attentively. 

"  Minima,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  he  did  not  care 
that  even  she  should  hear,  "  I  gave  her  all  I  had  worth 
giving  when  I  saw  her  first." 

"That's  just  how  it  will  be  with  you,  Dr.  John,"  ex- 
claimed Minima,  triumphantly ;  "  you'll  give  us  everything 
you  have,  and  then  you'll  have  nothing  left  for  yourself." 

But  still,  unless  Martin  had  taken  back  what  he  gave 
to  me  so  long  ago,  his  conduct  was  very  mysterious  to  me. 
He  did  not  come  to  Fulham  half  as  often  as  Dr.  John 
did;  and  when  he  came  he  spent  most  of  the  time  in  long, 
professional  discussions  with  Dr.  Senior.  They  told  me 
he  was  devoted  to  his  profession,  and  it  really  seemed  as 
if  he  had  not  time  to  think  of  anything  else. 

Neither  had  I  very  much  time  for  brooding  over  any 
subject,  for  guests  began  to  frequent  the  house,  which  be- 
came much  gayer,  Dr.  Senior  said,  now  there  was  a  young 
hostess  in  it.     The  quiet  evenings  of  autumn  and  winter 


528  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

were  gone,  and  instead  of  them  our  engagements  accumu- 
lated on  our  hands,  until  I  very  rarely  met  Martin  except 
at  some  entertainment,  where  we  were  surrounded  by 
strangers.  Martin  was  certainly  at  a  disadvantage  among 
a  crowd  of  mere  acquaintances,  where  Dr.  John  was  quite 
at  home.  He  was  not  as  handsome,  and  he  did  not  pos- 
sess the  same  ease  and  animation.  So  he  was  a  little  apt 
to  get  into  corners  with  Dr.  Senior's  scientific  friends,  and 
to  be  somewhat  awkward  and  dull  if  he  were  forced  into 
gayer  society.     Dr.  John  called  him  glum. 

But  he  was  not  glum;  I  resented  that,  till  Dr.  John 
begged  my  pardon.  Martin  did  not  smile  as  readily  as 
Dr.  John,  he  was  not  forever  ready  with  a  simper,  but 
when  he  did  smile,  it  had  ten  times  more  expression.  I 
liked  to  watch  for  it,  for  the  light  that  came  into  his  eyes 
now  and  then,  breaking  through  his  gravity  as  the  sun 
breaks  through  the  clouds  on  a  dull  day. 

Perhaps  he  thought  I  liked  to  be  free.  Yes,  free  from 
tyranny,  but  not  free  from  love.  It  is  a  poor  thing  to 
have  no  one's  love  encircling  you,  a  poor  freedom  that. 
A  little  clue  came  to  my  hand  one  day,  the  other  end  of 
which  might  lead  me  to  the  secret  of  Martin's  reserve  and 
gloom.  He  and  Dr.  Senior  were  talking  together,  as  they 
paced  to  and  fro  about  the  lawn,  coming  up  the  walk 
from  the  riverside  to  the  house,  and  then  back  again.  I 
was  seated  just  within  the  drawing-room  window,  which 
was  open.  They  knew  I  was  there,  but  they  did  not  guess 
how  keen  my  hearing  was  for  anything  that  Martin  said. 
It  was  only  a  word  or  two  here  and  there  that  I  caught. 

"  If  you  were  not  in  the  way,"  said  Dr.  Senior,  "  John 
would  have  a  good  chance,  and  there  is  no  one  in  the 
world  I  would  sooner  welcome  as  a  daughter/' 

"  They  are  like  one  another,"  answered  Martin.  "  Have 
you  never  seen  it?  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  529 

What  more  they  said  I  did  not  hear,  but  it  seemed  a 
little  clearer  to  me  after  that  why  Martin  kept  aloof  from 
me,  and  left  me  to  ride,  and  talk,  and  laugh  with  his  friend 
Jack.  Why,  they  did  not  know  that  I  was  happier  silent 
beside  Martin,  than  laughing  most  merrily  with  Dr.  John, 
so  little  did  they  understand  me.  Just  before  Lent, 
which  was  a  busy  season  with  him,  Monsieur  Laurentie 
paid  us  his  promised  visit,  and  brought  us  news  from  Ville- 
en-bois.  The  money  that  had  been  lying  in  the  bank, 
which  I  could  not  touch,  whatever  my  necessities  were, 
had  accumulated  to  more  than  three  thousand  pounds, 
and  out  of  this  sum  were  to  come  the  funds  for  making 
Ville-en-bois  the  best-drained  parish  in  Normandy.  Noth- 
ing could  exceed  Monsieur  Laurentie's  happiness  in  choos- 
ing a  design  for  a  village  fountain,  and  in  examining  plans 
for  a  village  hospital,  for,  in  case  any  serious  illness 
should  break  out  again  among  them,  a  simple  little  hospi- 
tal was  to  be  built  upon  the  brow  of  the  hill,  where  the 
wind  sweeps  across  leagues  of  meadowland  and  heather. 

"  I  am  too  happy,  madame,"  said  the  cure ;  "  my  people 
will  die  no  more  of  fever,  and  we  will  teach  them  many 
English  ways.  When  will  you  come  again,  and  see  what 
you  have  done  for  us?  " 

"  I  will  come  in  the  autumn,'1  I  answered. 

"And  you  will  come  alone?  "  he  continued. 

"  Yes,  quite  alone,"  I  answered,  "or  with  Minima  only.'1 
34 


530  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

BREAKING    THE    ICE. 

YET,  while  I  told  Monsieur  Laurentie  seriously  that  I 
should  go  alone  to  Ville-en-bois  in  the  autumn,  I  did 
not  altogether  believe  it.  We  often  speak  in  half  false- 
hoods, even  to  ourselves. 

Dr.  Senior's  lawn,  in  which  he  takes  great  pride,  slopes 
gently  down  to  the  river,  and  ends  with  a  stone  parapet, 
over  which  it  is  exceedingly  pleasant  to  lean  and  watch 
idly  the  flowing  of  the  water,  which  seems  to  loiter  al- 
most reluctantly  before  passing  on  to  Westminster  and 
the  wharves  and  docks  of  the  city.  On  the  opposite  bank 
grows  a  cluster  of  cedars,  with  rich,  dark-green  branches, 
showing  nearly  black  against  the  pale  blue  of  the  sky.  In 
our  own  lawn  there  stand  three  fine  elms,  a  colony  for 
song-birds,  under  which  the  turf  is  carefully  kept  as 
smooth  and  soft  as  velvet,  and  seats  are  set  beneath  their 
shadow  where  one  can  linger  for  hours,  seeing  the  steam- 
ers and  pleasure-boats  passing  to  and  fro,  and  catching 
now  and  then  a  burst  of  music  or  laughter,  softened  a  lit- 
tle by  the  distance.  My  childhood  had  trained  me  to  be 
fond  of  living  out  of  doors,  and  when  the  spring  came, 
I  spent  most  of  my  days  under  these  elm-trees,  in  the 
fitful  sunshine  and  showers  of  an  English  April  and  May, 
such  as  I  had  never  known  before. 

From  one  of  these  trees  I  could  see  very  well  any  one 
who  went  in  or  out  through  the  gate.  But  it  was  not 
often  that  I  cared  to  sit  there,  for  Martin  came  only  in  the 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  531 

evening,  when  his  day's  work  was  done,  and  even  then 
his  coming  was  an  uncertainty.  Dr.  John  seldom  missed 
visiting  us,  but  Martin  was  often  absent  for  days.  That 
made  me  watch  all  the  more  eagerly  for  his  coming,  and 
feel  how  cruelly  fast  the  time  fled  when  he  was  with  us. 

But  one  Sunday  afternoon  in  April  I  chose  my  seat 
there,  behind  the  tree  where  I  could  see  the  gate,  without 
being  too  plainly  seen  myself.  Martin  had  promised  Dr. 
Senior  he  would  come  down  to  Fulham  with  Dr.  John 
that  afternoon,  if  possible.  The  river  was  quieter  than 
on  other  days,  and  all  the  world  seemed  calmer.  It  was 
such  a  day  as  the  one  in  Sark,  two  years  ago,  when  I 
slipped  from  the  cliffs,  and  Tardif  was  obliged  to  go 
across  to  Guernsey  to  fetch  a  doctor  for  me.  I  wondered 
if  Martin  ever  thought  of  it  on  such  a  day  as  this.  But 
men  do  not  remember  little  things  like  these  as  women 
do. 

I  heard  the  click  of  the  gate  at  last,  and  looking  round 
the  great  trunk  of  the  tree,  I  saw  them  come  in  together, 
Dr.  John  and  Martin.  He  had  kept  his  promise,  then. 
Minima  was  gone  out  somewhere  with  Dr.  Senior,  or  she 
would  have  run  to  meet  them,  and  so  brought  them  to 
the  place  where  I  was  half  hidden. 

However,  they  might  see  my  dress  if  they  chose.  They 
ought  to  see  it.  I  was  not  going  to  stand  up  and  show 
myself.  If  they  were  anxious  to  find  me,  and  come  to 
me,  it  was  quite  simple  enough. 

But  my  heart  sank  when  Martin  marched  straight  on 
and  entered  the  house  alone,  while  Dr.  John  came  as 
direct  as  an  arrow  toward  me.  They  knew  I  was  there, 
then!  Yet  Martin  avoided  me,  and  left  his  friend  to 
chatter  and  laugh  the  time  away.  I  was  in  no  mood  for 
laughing ;  I  could  rather  have  wept  bitter  tears  of  vexa- 
tion and  disappointment.     But  Dr.  John  was  near  enough 


532 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


now  for  me  to  discern  a  singular  gravity  upon  his  usually- 
gay  face. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter?"  I  exclaimed,  starting 
to  my  feet  and  hastening  to  meet  him.  He  led  me  back 
again  silently  to  my  seat,  and  sat  down  beside  me,  still  in 
silence.     Strange  conduct  in  Dr.  John. 

"  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter,"  I  said,  not  doubting  now 
that  there  was  some  trouble  at  hand.  Dr.  John's  face 
flushed,  and  he  threw  his  hat  down  on  the  grass,  and 
pushed  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  Then  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  mine  for  a  moment  only. 

"Olivia,"  he  said  very  seriously,  "do  you  love  me?" 

The  question  came  upon  me  like  a  shock  from  a  gal- 
vanic battery.  He  and  I  had  been  very  frank  and  friendly 
together — a  pleasant  friendship,  which  had  seemed  to  me 
as  safe  as  that  of  a  brother.  Besides,  he  knew  all  that 
Martin  had  done  and  borne  for  my  sake.  With  my  dis- 
appointment there  was  mingled  a  feeling  of  indignation 
against  his  treachery  toward  his  friend.  I  sat  watching 
the  glistening  of  the  water  through  the  pillars  of  the  para- 
pet till  my  eyes  were  dazzled. 

"I  scarcely  understand  what  you  say,"  I  answered, 
after  a  long  pause ;  "  you  know  I  care  for  you  all.  If  you 
mean,  do  I  love  you  as  I  love  your  father  and  Monsieur 
Laurentie,  why,  yes,  I  do." 

"  Very  good,  Olivia,"  he  said. 

That  was  so  odd  of  him,  that  I  turned  and  looked 
steadily  into  his  face.  It  was  not  half  as  grave  as  before, 
and  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  as  if  another  half-min- 
ute would  make  him  as  gay  and  light-hearted  as  ever. 

"  Whatever  did  you  come  and  ask  me  such  a  question 
for?  "  I  inquired,  rather  pettishly. 

"Was  there  any  harm  in  it?  "  he  rejoined. 

"Yes,  there  was  harm  in  it,"  I  answered;  "it  has  made 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  533 

me  very  uncomfortable.  I  thought  you  were  going  out  of 
your  mind.  If  you  meant  nothing  but  to  make  me  say  I 
liked  you,  you  should  have  expressed  yourself  differently. 
Of  course,  I  love  you  all,  and  all  alike." 

"  Very  good,"  he  said  again. 

I  felt  so  angry  that  I  was  about  to  get  up  and  go  away 
to  my  own  room ;  but  he  caught  my  dress,  and  implored 
me  to  stay  a  little  longer. 

"I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,"  he  said;  "I  promised 
that  dear  old  dolt,  Martin,  to  come  straight  to  you,  and 
ask  you  if  you  loved  me  in  so  many  words.  Well,  I've 
kept  my  promise,  and  now  I'll  go  and  tell  him  you  say 
you  love  us  all,  and  all  alike." 

"No,"  I  answered,  "you  shall  not  go  and  tell  him  that. 
What  could  put  it  into  Dr.  Martin's  head  that  I  was  in 
love  with  you?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  be  in  love  with  me?  "  retorted  Dr. 
John ;  "  Martin  assures  me  that  I  am  much  handsomer 
than  he  is — a  more  elegible/dT-//  in  every  respect.  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  have  an  income,  apart  from  our  practice,  at 
least  ten  times  larger  than  his.  I  am  much  more  sought 
after  generally ;  one  cannot  help  seeing  that.  Why  should 
you  not  be  in  love  with  me?  " 

I  did  not  deign  to  reply  to  him,  and  Jack  leaned  for- 
ward a  little  to  look  into  my  face. 

"Olivia,"  he  continued,  "that  is  part  of  what  Martin 
says.  We  have  just  been  speaking  of  you  as  we  came 
down  to  Fulham — never  before.  He  maintains  he  is 
bound  in  honor  to  leave  you  as  free  as  possible  to  make 
your  choice,  not  merely  between  us,  but  from  the  number 
of  fellows  who  have  found  their  way  down  here  since  you 
came.  You  made  one  fatal  mistake,  he  says,  through 
your  complete  ignorance  of  the  world,  and  it  is  his  duty 
to   take   care   that   you   do  not  make   a  second  mistake, 


534 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


through  any  gratitude  you  might  feel  toward  him.  He 
would  not  be  satisfied  with  gratitude.  Besides,  he  has 
discovered  that  he  is  not  so  great  a  prize  as  he  fancied  as 
long  as  he  lived  in  Guernsey;  and  you  are  a  richer  prize 
than  you  seemed  to  be  then.  With  your  fortune,  you 
ought  to  make  a  much  better  match  than  with  a  young 
physician,  who  has  to  push  his  way  among  a  host  of  com- 
petitors. Lastly,  Martin  said,  for  I'm  merely  repeating 
his  own  arguments  to  you,  '  Do  you  think  I  can  put  her 
happiness  and  mine  into  a  balance,  and  coolly  calculate 
which  has  the  greater  weight?  If  I  had  to  choose  for  her, 
I  should  not  hesitate  between  you  and  me.'  Now  I  have 
told  you  the  sum  of  our  conversation,  Olivia." 

Every  word  Dr.  John  had  spoken  had  thrown  clearer 
light  upon  Martin's  conduct.  He  had  been  afraid  I  should 
feel  myself  bound  to  him ;  and  the  very  fact  that  he  had 
once  told  me  he  loved  me,  had  made  it  more  difficult  to 
him  to  say  so  a  second  time.  He  would  not  have  any 
love  from  me  as  a  duty.  If  I  did  not  love  him  fully,  with 
my  whole  heart,  choosing  him  after  knowing  others  with 
whom  I  could  compare  him,  he  would  not  receive  any 
lesser  gift  from  me. 

"  What  will  you  do,  my  dear  Olivia?  "  asked  Dr.  John. 

"What  can  I  do?"   I  said. 

"Go  to  him,"  he  urged;  "he  is  alone.  I  saw  him  a 
moment  ago,  looking  out  at  us  from  the  drawing-room 
window.  The  old  fellow  is  making  up  his  mind  to  see 
you  and  me  happy  together,  and  to  conceal  his  own  sor- 
row.    God  bless  him !     Olivia,  my  dear  girl,  go  to  him." 

"  O  Jack!  "  I  cried.    "  I  cannot." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  cannot,"  he  answered,  gayly. 
"  You  are  trembling,  and  your  face  goes  from  white  to 
red,  and  then  white  again ;  but  you  have  not  lost  the  use 
of  your  limbs,  or  your  tongue.     If  you  take  my  arm,  it 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  535 

will  not  be  very  difficult  to  cross  the  la  vn.  Come ;  he  is 
the  best  fellow  living,  and  worth  walking  a  dozen  yards 
for." 

Jack  drew  my  hand  through  his  arm,  and  led  me  across 
the  smooth  lawn.  We  caught  a  glimpse  of  Martin  look- 
ing out  at  us:  but  he  turned  away  in  an  instant,  and  I 
could  not  see  the  expression  of  his  £ace.  Would  he  think 
we  were  coming  to  tell  him  that  he  had  wasted  all  his 
love  upon  a  girl  not  worthy  of  a  tenth  part  of  it? 

The  glass  doors  which  opened  upon  the  lawn  had  been 
thrown  back  all  day,  and  we  could  see  distinctly  into  the 
room.  Martin  was  standing  at  the  other  end  of  it,  ap- 
parently absorbed  in  examining  a  painting  which  he  must 
have  seen  a  thousand  times.  The  doors  creaked  a  little 
as  I  passed  through  them,  but  he  did  not  turn  round. 
Jack  gave  my  hand  a  parting  squeeze,  and  left  me  there 
in  the  open  door-way,  scarcely  knowing  whether  to  go  on 
and  speak  to  Martin,  or  run  away  to  my  room,  and  leave 
him  to  take  his  own  time. 

I  believe  I  should  have  run  away,  but  I  heard  Minima's 
voice  behind  me,  calling  shrilly  to  Dr.  John,  and  I  could 
not  bear  to  face  him  again.  Taking  my  courage  in  both 
hands,  I  stepped  quickly  across  the  floor,  for  if  I  had  hes- 
itated longer  my  heart  would  have  failed  me.  Scarcely 
a  moment  had  passed  since  Jack  left  me,  and  Martin  had 
not  turned  his  head ;  yet  it  seemed  an  age. 

"  Martin,"  I  whispered,  as  I  stood  close  behind  him, 
"how  could  you  be  so  foolish  as  to  send  Dr.  John  to 
me?" 


536  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

PALMY   DAYS. 

WE  were  married  as  soon  as  the  season  was  over,  when 
Martin's  fashionable  patients  were  all  going  away 
from  town.  Ours  was  a  very  quiet  wedding,  for  I  had  no 
friends  on  my  side,  and  Martin's  cousin  Julia  could  not 
come,  for  she  had  a  baby  not  a  month  old,  and  Captain 
Carey  could  not  leave  them.  Johanna  Carey  and  Minima 
were  my  bridesmaids,  and  Jack  was  Martin's  groomsman. 

On  our  way  home  from  Switzerland,  in  the  early  autumn, 
we  went  down  from  Paris  to  Falaise,  and  through  Noireau 
to  Ville-en-bois.  From  Falaise  every  part  of  the  road 
was  full  of  associations  to  me.  This  was  the  long,  weary 
journey  which  Minima  and  I  had  taken,  alone,  in  a  dark 
November  night;  and  here  were  the  narrow  and  dirty 
streets  of  Noireau,  which  we  had  so  often  trodden,  cold 
and  hungry  and  friendless.  Martin  said  little  about  it, 
but  I  knew  by  his  face,  and  by  the  tender  care  he  lavished 
upon  me,  that  his  mind  was  as  full  of  it  as  mine  was. 

There  was  no  reason  for  us  to  stay  even  a  day  in 
Noireau,  and  we  hurried  through  it  on  our  way  to  Ville- 
en-bois.  This  road  was  still  more  memorable  to  me,  for 
we  had  traversed  it  on  foot. 

"See,  Martin!  "  I  cried,  "there  is  the  trunk  of  the  tree 
still,  where  Minima  and  I  sat  down  to  rest.  I  am  glad 
the  tree  is  there  yet.  If  we  were  not  in  a  hurry,  you  and 
I  would  sit  there  now;  it  is  so  lonely  and  still,  and 
scarcely  a  creature  passes  this  way.     It  is  delicious  to  be 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  537 

lonely  sometimes.  How  footsore  and  famished  we  were, 
walking  along  this  rough  part  of  the  road!  Martin,  I 
almost  wish  our  little  Minima  were  with  us.  There  is  the 
common.  If  you  will  look  very  steadily  you  can  just  see 
the  top  of  the  cross  against  the  black  line  of  fir-trees  on 
the  far  side." 

I  was  getting  so  excited  that  I  could  speak  no  longer; 
but  Martin  held  my  hand  in  his,  and  I  clasped  it  more 
and  more  tightly  as  we  drew  nearer  to  the  cross  where 
Minima  and  I  had  sat  down  at  the  foot,  forlorn  and  lost, 
in  the  dark  shadows  of  the  coming  night.  Was  it  possi- 
ble that  I  was  the  same  Olivia? 

But  as  we  came  in  sight  of  the  little  grove  of  cypresses 
and  yews,  we  could  discern  a  crowd  of  women  in  their 
snow-white  caps,  and  of  men  and  boys  in  blue  blouses. 
The  hollow  beat  of  a  drum  reached  our  ears  afar  off,  and 
after  it  the  shrill  notes  of  a  violin  and  fife  playing  a  merry 
tune.  Monsieur  Laurentie  appeared  in  the  foreground 
of  the  multitude,  bare-headed,  long  before  we  reached  the 
spot. 

"O  Martin!"  I  said,  "let  us  get  out  and  send  the 
carriage  back,  and  walk  up  with  them  to  the  village." 

"And  my  wife's  luggage?"  he  answered,  "and  all  the 
toys  and  presents  she  has  brought  from  Paris?  " 

It  was  true  that  the  carriage  was  inconveniently  full  of 
parcels,  for  I  do  not  think  I  had  forgotten  one  of  Mon- 
sieur Laurentie's  people.  But  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
ride  among  them  while  they  were  walking. 

"  Every  man  will  carry  something,"  I  said.  "  Martin, 
I  must  get  out." 

It  was  Monsieur  Laurentie  who  opened  the  carriage 
door  for  me ;  but  the  people  did  not  give  him  time  for  a 
ceremonious  salutation.  They  thronged  about  us  with 
vlvats  as  hearty  as  an  English  hurrah. 


538  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 

"All  the  world  is  here  to  meet  us,  monsieur,"  I  said. 

"  Madame,  I  have  also  the  honor  of  presenting  to  you 
two  strangers  from  England,"  answered  Monsieur  Lauren- 
tie,  while  the  people  fell  back  to  make  way  for  them. 
Jack  and  Minima!  both  wild  with  delight.  We  learned 
afterward,  as  we  marched  up  the  valley  to  Ville-en-bois, 
that  Dr.  Senior  had  taken  Jack's  place  in  Brook  Street, 
and  insisted  upon  his  and  Minima  giving  us  this  surprise. 
Our  procession,  headed  by  the  drum,  the  fife,  and  the 
violin,  passed  through  the  village  street,  from  every  win- 
dow of  which  a  little  flag  fluttered  gayly,  and  stopped  be- 
fore the  presbytery,  where  Monsieur  Laurentie  dismissed 
it,  after  a  last  vivat. 

The  next  stage  of  our  homeward  journey  we  made  in 
Monsieur  Laurentie's  char-a-banc,  from  Ville-en-bois  to 
Granville.  Jack  and  Minima  had  returned  direct  to  Eng- 
land, but  we  were  to  visit  Guernsey  on  the  way.  Captain 
Carey  and  Julia  made  it  a  point  that  we  should  go  to  see 
them  and  their  baby  before  settling  down  in  our  London 
home.  Martin  was  welcomed  with  almost  as  much  enthu- 
siasm in  St.  Peter-port  as  I  had  been  in  little  Ville-en-bois. 

From  our  room  in  Captain  Carey's  house  I  could  look 
at  Sark  lying  along  the  sea,  with  a  belt  of  foam  encircling 
it.  At  times,  early  in  the  morning,  or  when  the  sunset 
light  fell  upon  it,  I  could  distinguish  the  old  windmill,  and 
the  church  breaking  the  level  line  of  the  summit;  and  I 
could  even  see  the  brow  of  the  knoll  behind  Tardifs 
cottage.  But  day  after  day  the  sea  between  us  was  rough, 
and  the  westerly  breeze  blew  across  the  Atlantic,  driving 
the  waves  before  it.  There  was  no  steamer  going  across, 
and  Captain  Carey's  yacht  could  not  brave  the  winds.  I 
began  to  be  afraid  that  Martin  and  I  should  not  visit  the 
place  which  of  all  others  in  this  half  of  the  world  was 
dearest  to  me. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  539 

"To-morrow,"  said  Martin  one  night,  after  scanning 
the  sunset,  the  sky,  and  the  storm-glass,  "  if  you  can  be 
up  at  five  o'clock,  we  will  cross  to  Sark." 

I  was  up  at  four,  in  the  first  gray  dawn  of  a  September 
morning.  We  had  the  yacht  to  ourselves,  for  Captain 
Carey  declined  running  the  risk  of  being  weather-bound 
on  the  island — a  risk  which  we  were  willing  to  chance. 
The  Havre  Gosselin  was  still  in  morning  shadow  when 
we  ran  into  it;  but  the  water  between  us  and  Guernsey 
was  sparkling  and  dancing  in  the  early  light,  as  we  slowly 
climbed  the  rough  path  up  the  cliff.  My  eyes  were  daz- 
zled with  the  sunshine  and  dim  with  tears  when  I  first 
caught  sight  of  the  little  cottage  of  Tardif,  who  was 
stretching  out  his  nets  on  the  stone  causeway  under  the 
windows.  Martin  called  to  him,  and  he  flung  down  his 
nets  and  ran  to  meet  us. 

"  We  are  come  to  spend  the  day  with  you,  Tardif,"  I 
cried,  when  he  was  within  hearing  of  my  voice. 

"  It  will  be  a  day  from  heaven,'"  he  said,  taking  off  his 
fisherman's  cap,  and  looking  round  at  the  blue  sky  with 
its  scattered  clouds  and  the  sea  with  its  scattered  islets. 

It  was  like  a  day  from  heaven.  We  wandered  about 
the  cliffs,  visiting  every  spot  which  was  most  memorable 
to  either  of  us,  and  Tardif  rowed  us  in  kis  boat  past  the 
entrance  of  the  Gouliot  Caves.  He  was  very  quiet,  but 
he  listened  to  our  happy  talk  together,  for  I  could  not 
think  of  good  old  Tardif  as  any  stranger;  and  he  seemed 
to  watch  us  both  with  a  far-off,  faithful,  quiet  look  upon 
his  face.  Sometimes  I  fancied  he  did  not  hear  what  we 
were  saying,  and  again  his  eyes  would  brighten  with  a 
sudden  gleam,  as  if  his  whole  soul  and  heart  shone  through 
them  upon  us.  It  was  the  last  day  of  our  holiday,  for  in 
the  morning  we  were  about  to  return  to  London  and  to 


540  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

work,  but  it  was  such  a  perfect  day  as  I  had  never  known 
before. 

"You  are  quite  happy,  Mrs.  Martin  Dobree?"  said 
Tardif  to  me,  when  we  were  parting  from  him. 

"  I  did  not  know  I  could  ever  be  so  happy,"  I  answered. 

We  saw  him  to  the  last  standing  on  the  cliff  and  wav- 
ing his  hat  to  us  high  above  his  head.  Now  and  then 
there  came  a  shout  across  the  water.  Before  we  were 
quite  beyond  earshot,  we  heard  Tardifs  voice  calling, 
amid  the  splashing  of  the  waves: 

"  God  be  with  you,  my  friends.     Adieu,  mam'zelle!  " 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA.  541 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

\ 

A   POSTSCRIPT    BY    MARTIN   DOBR^E. 

YOU  may  describe  to  a  second  person,  with  the  most 
minute  and  exact  fidelity  in  your  power,  the  leading 
and  critical  events  in  your  life,  and  you  will  find  that  some 
trifle  of  his  own  experience  is  ten  times  more  vivid  to 
his  mind.  You  narrate  to  your  friend,  whom  you  have 
not  met  for  many  years,  the  incident  that  has  turned  the 
whole  current  of  your  existence,  and  after  a  minute  or 
two  of  musing,  he  asks  you,  "  Do  you  remember  the  day 
we  two  went  bird-nesting  on  Gull's  Cliff?  "  That  day  of 
boyish  daring  and  of  narrow  escapes  is  more  real  to  him 
than  your  deepest  troubles  or  keenest  joys.  The  brain 
receives  but  slightly  second-hand  impressions. 

I  had  told  Olivia  faithfully  all  my  dilemmas  with  regard 
to  Julia  and  the  Careys,  and  she  had  seemed  to  listen 
with  intense  interest.  Certainly  it  was  during  those  four 
bewildering  and  enchanted  months  immediately  preceding 
our  marriage;  and  no  doubt  the  narrative  was  interwoven 
with  many  a  topic  of  quite  a  different  character.  How- 
ever that  might  be,  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  Olivia  was 
not  half  as  nervous  and  anxious  as  I  felt,  when  we  were 
nearing  Guernsey  on  our  visit  to  Julia  and  Captain  Carey. 
Julia  had  seen  her  but  once,  and  that  for  a  few  minutes 
only  in  Sark.  On  her  account  she  had  suffered  the  sever- 
est mortification  a  woman  can  undergo.  How  would  she 
receive  my  wife? 


542  THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 

Olivia  did  not  know,  though  I  did,  that  Julia  was  some- 
what frigid  and  distant  in  her  manner,  even  while  thor- 
oughly hospitable  in  her  welcome.  Olivia  felt  the  hos- 
pitality; I  felt  the  frigidity.  Julia  called  her  "Mrs. 
Dobree."  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  addressed 
by  that  name ;  and  her  blush  and  smile  were  exquisite  to 
me,  but  they  did  not  thaw  Julia  in  the  least.  I  began  to 
fear  that  there  would  be  between  them  that  strange,  un- 
comfortable, east-wind  coolness  which  so  often  exists  be- 
tween the  two  women  a  man  most  loves. 

It  was  the  baby  that  did  it.  Nothing  on  earth  could 
be  more  charming,  or  more  winning,  than  Olivia's  delight 
over  that  child.  It  was  the  first  baby  she  had  ever  had 
in  her  arms,  she  told  us ;  and  to  see  her  sitting  in  the  low 
rocking-chair,  with  her  head  bent  over  it,  and  to  watch 
her  dainty  way  of  handling  it,  was  quite  a  picture.  Cap- 
tain Carey  had  an  artist's  eye,  and  was  in  raptures ;  Julia 
had  a  mother's  eye,  and  was  so  won  by  Olivia's  admira- 
tion of  her  baby,  that  the  thin  crust  of  ice  melted  from 
her  like  the  Arctic  snows  before  a  Greenland  summer. 

I  was  not  in  the  least  surprised  when,  two  days  or  so 
before  we  left  Guernsey,  Julia  spoke  to  us  with  some  so- 
lemnity of  tone  and  expression. 

"  My  dear  Olivia,"  she  said,  "  and  you,  Martin,  Arnold 
and  I  would  consider  it  a  token  of  your  friendship  for  us 
both,  if  you  two  would  stand  as  sponsors  for  our  child." 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,  Julia,"  I  replied;  and 
Olivia  crossed  the  hearth  to  kiss  her,  and  sat  down  on 
the  sofa  at  her  side. 

"  We  have  decided  upon  calling  her  Olivia,"  continued 
Julia,  stroking  my  wife's  hand  with  a  caressing  touch; 
"  Olivia  Carey!  That  sounds  extremely  well,  and  is  quite 
new  in  the  island.  I  think  it  sounds  even  better  than 
Olivia  Dobree." 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


543 


As  we  all  agreed  that  no  name  could  sound  better,  or 
be  newer  in  Guernsey,  that  question  was  immediately  set- 
tled. There  was  no  time  for  delay,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing we  carried  the  child  to  church  to  be  christened.  As 
we  were  returning  homeward,  Julia,  whose  face  had  worn 
its  softest  expression,  pressed  my  arm  with  a  clasp  which 
made  me  look  down  upon  her  questioningly.  Her  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears,  and  her  mouth  quivered.  Olivia 
and  Captain  Carey  were  walking  on  in  front  at  a  more 
rapid  pace  than  ours,  so  that  we  were  in  fact  alone. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  M  I  asked  hastily. 

"O  Martin!"  she  exclaimed,  "we  are  both  so  happy, 
after  all!  I  wish  my  poor,  darling  aunt  could  only  have 
foreseen  this.  But  don't  you  think,  as  we  are  both  so 
happy,  we  might  just  go  and  see  my  poor  uncle?  Kate 
Daltrey  is  away  in  Jersey,  I  know  that  for  certain,  and  he 
is  alone.  It  would  give  him  so  much  pleasure.  Surely 
you  can  forgive  him  now." 

"  By  all  means  let  us  go,"  I  answered.  I  had  not  heard 
even  his  name  mentioned  before  by  any  one  of  my  old 
friends  in  Guernsey.  But,  as  Julia  said,  I  was  so  happy 
that  I  was  ready  to  forgive  and  forget  all  ancient  griev- 
ances. Olivia  and  Captain  Carey  were  already  out  of 
sight,  and  we  turned  into  a  street  leading  to  Vauvert 
Road. 

"  They  live  in  lodgings  now,"  remarked  Julia,  as  we 
went  slowly  up  the  steep  street,  "and  nobody  visits  them — 
not  one  of  my  uncle's  old  friends.  They  have  plenty  to 
live  upon,  but  it  is  all  her  money.  I  do  not  mean  to  let 
them  get  upon  visiting  terms  with  me — at  least,  not  Kate 
Daltrey.     You  know  the  house,  Martin?" 

I  knew  nearly  every  house  in  St.  Peter-port,  but  this  I  re- 
membered particularly  as  being  the  one  where  Mrs. 
Foster  had  lodged  when  she  was  in  Guernsey.     Upon  in- 


544  THE   DOCTORS  DILEMMA. 

quiring  for  Dr.  Dobree  we  were  ushered  at  once,  without 
warning,  into  his  presence. 

Even  I  should  scarcely  have  recognized  him.  His  fig- 
ure was  shrunken  and  bent,  and  his  clothes,  which  were 
shabby,  sat  in  wrinkles  upon  him.  His  crisp,  white  hair 
had  grown  thin  and  limp,  and  hung  untidily  about  his 
face.  He  had  not  shaved  for  a  week.  His  waistcoat  was 
sprinkled  over  with  snuff,  in  which  he  had  indulged  but 
sparingly  in  former  years.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  his 
old  jauntiness  and  display.  This  was  a  rusty,  dejected 
old  man,  with  the  crows'- feet  very  plainly  marked  upon 
his  features. 

"Father!"  I  said. 

"Uncle!"  cried  Julia,  running  to  him,  and  giving  him 
a  kiss,  which  she  had  not  meant  to  do,  I  am  sure,  when 
we  entered  the  house.  He  shed  a  few  tears  at  the  sight  of 
us,  in  a  maudlin  manner;  and  he  continued  languid  and 
sluggish  all  through  the  interview.  It  struck  me  more 
forcibly  than  any  other  change  could  have  done,  that  he 
never  once  appeared  to  pluck  up  any  spirit,  or  attempted 
to  recall  a  spark  of  his  ancient  sprightliness.  He  spoke 
more  to  Julia  than  to  me. 

"  My  love,"  he  said,  "  I  believed  I  knew  a  good  deal 
about  women,  but  I've  lived  to  find  out  my  mistake.  You 
and  your  beloved  aunt  were  angels.  This  one  never  lets 
me  have  a  penny  of  my  own,  and  she  locks  up  my  best 
suit  when  she  goes  from  home.  That  is  to  prevent  my 
going  among  my  own  friends.  She  is  in  Jersey  now,  but 
she  would  not  hear  a  word  of  my  going  with  her — not  one 
word.  The  Bible  says,  'Jealousy  is  cruel  as  the  grave; 
the  coals  thereof  are  coals  of  fire,  which  hath  a  most 
vehement  flame.'  Kate  is  jealous  of  me.  I  get  nothing 
but  black  looks  and  cold  shoulders.     There  never  lived  a 


THE   DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


545 


cat  and  dog  that  did  not  lead  a  more  comfortable  life 
than  Kate  leads  me." 

"  You  shall  come  and  see  Arnold  and  me  sometimes, 
uncle,"  said  Julia. 

"She  won't  let  me,"  he  replied,  with  fresh  tears;  "she 
will  not  let  me  mention  your  name,  or  go  past  your  house. 
I  should  very  much  like  to  see  Martin's  wife — a  very 
pretty  creature  they  say  she  is — but  I  dare  not.  O  Julia! 
how  little  a  man  knows  what  is  before  him!  " 

We  did  not  prolong  our  visit,  for  it  was  no  pleasure  to 
any  one  of  us.  Dr.  Dobree  himself  seemed  relieved  when 
we  spoke  of  going  away.  He  and  I  shook  hands  with  one 
another  gravely;  it  was  the  first  time  we  had  done  so 
since  he  had  announced  his  intention  of  marrying  Kate 
Daltrey. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "if  ever  you  should  find  yourself  a 
widower,  be  very  careful  how  you  select  your  second 
wife." 

Those  were  his  parting  words — words  which  chafed  me 
sorely  as  a  young  husband  in  his  honeymoon.  I  looked 
round  when  we  were  out  of  the  house,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  withered  face  and  ragged  white  hair,  as 
he  peeped  from  behind  the  curtain  at  us.  Julia  and  I 
walked  on  in  silence  till  we  reached  her  threshold. 

"Yet  I  am  not  sorry  we  went,  Martin,"  she  observed, 
in  a  tone  as  if  she  thus  summed  up  a  discussion  with  her- 
self.    Nor  was  I  sorry. 

A  few  days  after  our  return  to  London,  as  I  was  going 
home  to  dinner,  I  met,  about  half-way  along  Brook  Street, 
Mrs.  Foster.  For  the  first  time  since  my  marriage  I  was 
glad  to  be  alone ;  I  would  not  have  had  Olivia  with  me 
on  any  account.  But  the  woman  was  coming  away  from 
our  house,  and  a  sudden  fear  flashed  across  me.  Could 
she  have  been  annoying  my  Olivia? 
35 


54^ 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA. 


"  Have  you  been  to  see  me?  "   I  asked  her,  abruptly. 

"Why  should  I  come  to  see  you?  "  she  retorted. 

"  Nor  my  wife?  "  I  said. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  go  to  see  Mrs.  Dobree?"  she  asked 
again. 

I  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  secure  Olivia,  and  to  gain 
this  end  I  must  be  firm  But  the  poor  creature  looked 
miserable  and  unhappy,  and  I  could  not  be  harsh  toward 
her. 

"Come,  Mrs.  Foster,11  I  said,  "let  us  talk  reasonably 
together.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  you  have  no  claim 
upon  my  wife ;  and  I  cannot  have  her  disturbed  and  dis- 
tressed by  seeing  you.  I  wish  her  to  forget  all  the  past. 
Did.  I  not  fulfil  my  promise  to  Foster?  Did  1  not  do  all 
I  could  for  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  sobbing,  "  I  know  you  did  all  you 
could  to  save  my  husband's  life." 

"Without  fee?"   I  said. 

"  Certainly.     We  were  too  poor  to  pay  you." 

"  Give  me  my  fee  now,  then,"  I  replied.  "  Promise  me 
to  leave  Olivia  alone.  Keep  away  from  this  street,  ami 
do  not  thrust  yourself  upon  her  at  any  time.  If  you  meet 
by  accident,  that  will  be  no  fault  of  yours.  I  can  trust 
you  to  keep  your  promise." 

She  stood  silent  and  irresolute  for  a  minute.  Then 
she  clasped  my  hand,  with  a  strong  grip  for  a  woman's 
fingers. 

"  I  promise,"  she  said,  "for  you  were  very  good  to  him." 

She  had  taken  a  step  or  two  into  the  dusk  of  the  even- 
ing, when  I  ran  after  her  for  one  more  word. 

"  Mrs.  Foster,"    I  said,  "  are  you  in  want?  " 

"  I  can  always  keep  myself,"  she  answered,  proudly.  "  I 
earned  his  living  and  my  own  for  months  together. 
Good-by,  Martin  Dobree." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA, 


547 


"  Good-by,"  I  said.  She  turned  quickly  from  me 
round  a  corner  near  to  us,  and  I  have  not  seen  her  again 
from  that  day  to  this. 

Dr.  Senior  would  not  consent  to  part  with  Minima, 
even  to  Olivia.  She  promises  fair  to  take  the  reins  of  the 
household  at  a  very  early  age,  and  to  hold  them  with  a 
tight  hand.  Already  Jack  is  under  her  authority,  and 
yields  to  it  with  a  very  droll  submission.  She  is  so  old 
for  her  years,  and  he  is  so  young  for  his,  that — who  can 
tell  ?  Olivia  predicts  that  Jack  Senior  will  not  always  be 
a  bachelor. 


THE    END. 


